Halkegenia Online v3
by zero0hero
Summary: Third Volume of Halkegenia Online, Takes place following conclusion of 2.0. Preparations for war have begun in earnest, as Tristain and her Allies make ready in body and spirit and Albion threatens in the skies. On the White Isle, the Dragon Knights prepare, a Thief arrives, and a Born Huntress stalks her prey. Interlude Volume. Warning OC heavy. Main plot will return in V4.
1. Prologue Pt 1: Letter

Halkegenia Online – v3.0 – Chapter 1 – Part 1

_On the western cliffs of the Northern most tip of Albion, overlooking the mists and the endless sea which stretched all the way to the mysterious horizon from which no man had ever returned, there existed a village clinging to the end of the world. The land was rough here, and the seasons were harsh and unkind, summers with little rain, and bitter winters. The people had grown hardy and stoic to endure as they did._

_So distant and insignificant, nary a post ship ever docked there, and only the occasional barge came along its river ways to deliver goods to market. Even in times of war it had remained peaceful, and in times of peace it had often known a small measure of prosperity, its farmers living as they always had raising goats and sheep, oblivious to the violence elsewhere. For the common people of this land, and its petty mages, news of war, of mass violence, death and killing, it probably seemed like a dream._

_No wonder Captain Trayvor had spoken so fondly of his home._

_Lieutenant Terrance Dunwell pondered this as he was helped down from the deck of the docked barge by a pair of strong and sturdily built men. For him, war was reality, as it had been since he'd joined the Dragon Knights, and any corner of the world that seemed untouched was merely an illusion. _

_Moving with a pronounced and pained limp, Dunwell patted at his leg. The healers had treated him as best they could, but it would take time if it was to mend properly. Founder knew that he could have ended up worse off. If it had been any drake but Scirroco, he'd likelier have died. The healers said it would still be a good week before he was judged fit to fly once more, and when he did, it would be with one of the sullen fire dragons rather than his familiar._

_'That . . . woman . . .' It seemed to be the only way he could describe her without earning her scorn._

_Dunwell shook his head as he recalled. Insufferable, harsh, lazy, and intensely cynical when she wasn't simply getting drunk on his salary. His life had known nothing but complications since he'd summoned the Rhyme Dragon and bound her as his familiar. And now she decided to wonder off for a month's time on her own business, casually informing him that they would meet again in Londinium before vanishing from the infirmary._

_Regrettably, he had no doubt that she'd return. For whatever reason, she'd stuck around this long._

_And yet . . . He was truly relieved that she had left him for now. Grateful to not have those ancient eyes appraising his every action. This was something he needed to do on his own._

_Like so many small villages, this one was no different, peasant cottages pressed up against the hillsides to shelter from the elements, a cluster of larger houses situated around the church, and the normal collection of farmers' wives and children at work and play. He found the village priest easily enough and asked for directions to the Trayvor home._

_As it happened, the house was quite a ways from the center of town, situated very near the edge of the cliffs beside an isolated ash oak that had grown stubbornly in this place since before the town for as long as any could remember._

_"I can show you the way." The priest offered, eyeing Dunwell as he turned around with a limp._

_"Just point it out to me." He'd answered._

_The Priest had nodded reluctantly and led him to the start of the sheep path that wound away from the edge of the village and out of view as it followed the cliffs. Dunwell had been told that so long as he followed it, he would find his way._

_The isolation of the path was good for him. The isolation of this journey was good for him. Time to remember, to think, and to satisfy himself that he'd done everything he could. He'd wondered about it into the nights, a brain fever that wouldn't relent. It wasn't his fault, he understood that, it wasn't anyone's fault, but he'd still failed._

_'It would have worked.' He thought as he rubbed at his leg, the salves were starting to wear off, and with them, the burning and itching was returning to his consciousness. 'The matter is control, one Air isn't enough, and without Earth the particulates can't be replenished as they abrade.' There was no way around it, nearly killing himself with that mess of a spell, he'd been and idiot to think he could make it work._

_'Back to the start again.' He thought, It'd probably be better if he just burned his old notes and started off from the beginning. But he loathed discarding the ratty old leather notebook tucked into his pocket._

_It felt like it took a very long time to reach where he was going, but when he looked up, the sun had hardly moved, maybe less than an hour's walk. It would have been half that if he'd been able to keep a brisk pace or simply hired a horse. He stopped long enough beneath the shade of a tree to reapply the salves the healers had left him with to treat the abrasions that were still bloody and raw, more painful than debilitating. Still, a risk of infection persisted, or worse of necrosis if he did not follow their instructions._

_The house sat where the Priest had promised, a hundred paces from the end of the world, and accompanied by a gnarled old Ash Oak that simply seemed to have decided it would not die before the world ended around it. _

_The house itself was the Captain's handiwork, two floors, with a well-kept tile roof and white washed wood walls. Proper glass in the windows, and little reflector beside the door that could house either a mage-conjured light or an oil lamp. The rose bushes in the garden were lovely, and looked to have been tended to by expert hands, that must have been the doing of Analice Trayvor, the Captain's wife . . . _

_The thought almost made him stop. At any time up until now he could have turned back. He could have said that his injuries had flared up and that he could not fulfill this responsibility. He could have apologized and asked it of someone else._

_Facing the point where escape ceased to be an option, however, he was met by the cold reality of a responsibility he'd taken upon himself, to see this through to the end._

_He took the brass door knocker and struck heavily three times. No reply until Dunwell caught the turning noises of a heavy mechanical lock, a wizened little face peeked out._

_"Pardon?" A woman in the clothes of a maid servant asked._

_"Ma'am." Dunwell stood straighter, shoulders squared, raven hair combed back. "Lieutenant Terrance Dunwell to see the Lady of the House."_

_"Miss Analice you mean?" The graying woman took an offered note stating his identity and sealed by the Crown. More importantly, she stopped to read it. Literate, he noted. The Trayvor family was as discerning in servants as it was subordinates. "Just a moment Sir."_

_Disappearing back into the house, Dunwell composed himself, closed his eyes and took a breath. There was only one way this was ever going to end, he'd known that when he'd Left Newcastle to come here. He'd known it from the moment he'd taken it upon himself._

_And he'd wanted to reject it the moment Analice Trayvor came to the door. Long blonde hair combed straight, bright blue eyes much like her husband's. She'd was dressed all in white, still young enough for simplicity to be charming and beautiful, and clutched at a tiny book, a bible that she'd been reading from before being summoned to the door._

_"Monsieur?" She spoke with the faint accent of a Northerner, close to the ports that did the most business with Germania. Marrying into the Trayvor family, he was sure she was fluent in at least Romalian and Gallian. "Pardon, I was told you'd just arrived. Monsieur Dunwell, was it?"_

_Dunwell opened his mouth to speak, but his voice was taken from him. Instead, he nodded slowly._

_Analice Trayvor drew back a strand of her hair, smiling innocently. "I'm very Sorry Monsieur, but if you're looking for my Husband, I'm sure it must be some military matter, he was recalled to New Castle a fortnight ago. He is not here. Monsieur?"_

_Dunwell realized that his lips were still parted. Young . . . A decade younger than her husband, barely wed. She didn't understand what he was doing here. Couldn't understand what his purpose was._

_"I am aware of the Captain's assignment to Newcastle." Dunwell answered quietly, folding his hands behind his back. "I am a Flight Lieutenant of the Fourth Dragon Knight's squadron. I served under your husbands command."_

_"Dunwell . . . Yes . . . I remember." She smiled fondly. "He's mentioned you in his letters. So you're the diligent young man? But . . . served?" Revelation was dawning slowly, an unease, a hint of an idea that hadn't quite bubbled to the surface. She didn't even know to deny it yet._

_What was he supposed to do? He was a printer's son, and his father had died early and left him alone, and he was a Dragoon not yet Knighted in service to his King, a boy recently made a man and a soldier, blooded less than a week ago._

_From his father and his childhood, he knew words and culture, he knew poems and plays. From Charles Trayvor, he knew spells, and swordcraft, and riding, how to fight and kill. But between the two, what experience was there that could guide him. What was he supposed to do?_

_"Flight Lieutenant of the Fourth Dragon Knight Squadron, Terrance Dunwell, delivering a message to Misses Analice Trayvor, wife of Sir Charles Trayvor." He began as if he was giving a report, cold, impersonal and wrong. What else was he supposed to say? He offered a letter to Analice, accepted into dainty hands, but left unopened. The wax bore the Royal Crest, not Captain Trayvor's own._

_She saw what it was, and she knew what it was, and she rejected what it was. Like a child that didn't want to accept that the Faerie Tale wasn't real._

_"On the Third of Tiir in this year of our Blessed Founder six thousand three hundred and twenty two, Captain Sir Charles Trayvor, Acting Commander of the Fourth Dragon Knight's squadron, did give his life virtuously in battle in service to the Good King James of the house of Tudor, and to the sovereignty of the Kingdom of Albion." Dunwell closed his eyes, and bowed his head. "God save the King."_

_What was he supposed to do?_

_When the silence went on for too long, he opened his eyes. Analice Trayvor hadn't moved, hadn't breathed, her light grip on the unopened letter failed, the little envelope fluttering to the ground. Only when it touched wood did time start again for the young widow._

_Dunwell stood resolute, face fixed forward, eyes straight. His duty was to be strong now as the woman before him broke and wept, sinking to her hands and knees. The maid returned, crying to her mistress who couldn't have cared less if she was there. Dunwell had only the loss of his own father to compare it to._

_Misery caused him to kneel, and misery also caused him to carefully retrieve the dropped bible and place a hand on Analice's trembling shoulders._

_Damaged body, damaged pride, lost comrades, and the suffering that it brought. How had there ever been a time when he'd looked on battle and seen glory?_

* * *

><p>"You had that look in your eye Lad." Said in a rasped voice, like its owner had been gargling gravel. "Same look you had last time I saw you."<p>

Sir Terrance Dunwell looked up abruptly from the glass of amber liquid held lightly in his right hand. He'd been nursing it most of the night, strong drink was a gift from the Founder after all. And all the better to numb the ache of old battle scars. Besides, meeting in a place like this, it would have been more suspicious to be empty handed.

The place being a tavern in the lower wards of Londinium. Dunwell had forgotten the name of the place, it didn't matter much, the sign outside had changed a dozen times over the years, as many times as the establishment had changed hands. But the alcohol had stayed the same, as had the good mood of the guests and tavern girls.

"What can I say." Dunwell took a sip from his brandy, giving a nod to the far side of the table to the hooded and the gray man who he had come to meet. "This place brings back old memories, Sir."

Of his youth, and of comrades he'd known then, and of a certainty he'd lost as the years had gone by until all that was left of Terrance Dunwell was a tired old man creeping past his fortieth year. Though not quite as old as to have turned his hair white as age had done to this man, or to excuse the white stubble that peppered his jaw from chin down to neck.

"It's been a long time since I've been called 'Sir'." The older man chuckled. "Least of all by you." Taking the offered seat with a whisper of thanks, and then another as Dunwell raised his hand, calling for another drink.

"And it's been about as long since you called me 'Lad'." Dunwell observed casually as he cast his gaze to the rest of the diners. Nobody here looked overly suspicious, but one could never tell. Too many of the King's old agents had seen the writing on the wall and changed sides while they still could, desperate to grab at the chance to prove their loyalty to Albion's new master.

The people were fast discovering that the new 'King', for all of his sympathy for the commoners, was a lot like the Old King, secret police and all.

"To growing old." Sir James Nare declared as he took his glass from a passing serving girl and raised it high. "Or at least, old enough to reminisce."

"To growing old." Dunwell agreed as he touched glasses with his former Captain. "Whoever would think we'd look forward to it?"

They both drank, Dunwell at last finishing his own while Nare made a healthy start on his. Both men sunk down in their seats as the alcohol loosened them up. Just a little. Enough to add some courage, but not nearly enough to make either of them sloppy.

"Aye, it's not so bad, Lad." Nare whispered as he held his glass up to examine the brandy by lamp light. "Growing old I mean. You get a perspective on the world, things don't bother you so much. You get a chance to see the great wheel turning." He put his glass down. "But you didn't ask me here to receive the wisdom of a long life."

"No." Dunwell agreed. "My concerns lay with the future rather than the past, and when last I heard, you wrote that you might be able to give me an answer to one of my questions."

Nare nodded, resting his hand on the rim of his glass. In a trick of the lantern light, the older man's smile faded into shadow and then disappeared altogether.

"This is good brandy. Gallian?"

"Where else?" Dunwell answered.

Blockade or not, Heretics or not, Faeries or not, Albion was still flaunting its maritime superiority. Romalia might have been patrolling the Southern borders while Tristain made noises to the East, but they would be hard pressed to close off all avenues of trade. In the end, Albion still had something that everyone wanted, and the Merchant's always found a way.

Merchants like a certain Sir James Nare, formerly of the Dragon Knights, long since retired and taken to a more peaceful life.

Nare had done well for himself, in spite of the turmoil, keeping his head down when the war had started, paying bribes to the right officials and selling to the right nobles. Dunwell didn't blame him, Nare had three young sons now, and a wife to look after, and he'd had the wisdom to see that he couldn't help what was coming, only take shelter and keep himself and his family safe.

But James Nare was still an honorable man, as honorable as anyone else in their fallen country, in any case. There were things he could learn that Dunwell could not, at least, not without rousing suspicion. The smallest bit of guilt niggled at the back of the Captain's brain as he acknowledged that he was taking advantage of his old flight leader, maybe even drawing danger to him and his family.

But if that happened he'd be bringing the same danger down on the heads of himself and all of his subordinates. He would not have involved the man if there was any other way.

"Now then." Dunwell set his elbows on the table. "Tell me what you know of the woman who calls herself Sheffield."

"Lord Cromwell's secretary, Aye?" Nare looked to his glass. "An interesting one I should think. Lots of Merchants doing business with her the last few months."

"Gallian." Dunwell said unhappily.

The supplies flowed from Gallia, from every manner of industry. Bulk goods and food, finished goods, luxuries and more sulfur and salt peter than all the Earth mages in Albion could have produced. The backers of Reconquista were indeed Gallian, and whoever they were, their wealth ran deep. Which meant their hair likely ran some shade of blue. Royals of one of the houses, taking advantage of the idiocy of the present King.

"Would you believe Tristanian?"

Dunwell was stopped mid thought. "Pardon?"

Nare nodded again as he swirled his glass. "I'm sure they were shipped from Gallia, but that wasn't their origin. The crates are marked from the Germanian markets, and stamped with the logo of a trading house that sits on the Tristanian border. Founder knows how many times they traded hands to get here."

"And you're sure?" Dunwell narrowed his eyes with cast suspicion.

Nare shrugged, face betraying nothing of what he was thinking. "Aye, I'm sure. As for how I know. The black markets have been interesting recently. Or haven't you heard?"

"Goods from the Faerie Lands." Dunwell sighed.

It was inevitable that they would start to trickle out given enough time. The Faeries were interesting, and interesting things fetched a premium. Whether by business, discovery, or theft, trinkets of ALfheim had started to trade hands.

Dunwell had seen them coming in, confiscated shipments for the black markets. Any goods made or altered by Faerie crafts had been banned for private possession on order of Lord Cromwell and were to be confiscated at once. The truth was, that it was merely a pretext. Now that the Rebel leaders were the legitimate authority and had acquired the mechanisms to profit directly from Albion's trade, they didn't appreciate others horning in on their business.

Dunwell had long lost the ability to appreciate the irony. But the confiscated goods were a fascinating, sometimes terrifying look into their new enemies.

The whimsical, almost impossible creations. Swords and armor that confounded Earth Mages as to their composition and precision of crafting, every sort of charm, to hasten movement, or to lighten burdens, or to cast defensive spells that restored themselves with time. Weapons imbued with magic of their own, and any number of clever little devices.

None was an exception in and of itself, most could have been replicated, one way or another, by powerful magic, but taken together, and in the quantity that he'd seen, it spoke of a tremendous concentration of magical potential and talent. All of this from just the small trickle of black market goods.

"I can tell you right now, she's the buyer for sure." Nare breathed slowly. "Only place in Londinium they can be going. And your Lady Sheffield is the only one who can flaunt Lord Cromwell's decree like that."

"I've heard she's had the Palace basements renovated." Dunwell muttered. Given her involvement in Reconquista so far, he could only imagine it was some sort of stockpiling effort. A sensible thing to do.

"And what about Sheffield herself?" Dunwell shook his head, this was interesting, but not what he was here to learn. "The name is Gallian correct?"

"Gallian Noble." Nare agreed. "Old Nobility too, so old the names practically been lost and rediscovered a dozen times."

"And is our Lady Sheffield of that line?" Dunwell asked the question he most wanted to know. Who was she? Where was she from? Who were her allies?

Nare blinked slowly, so slowly that Dunwell wondered if one glass had been enough to leave him drunk. 'Come on man! You can hold your liquor better than that!'

Nare started to snicker. "That's . . . where it gets interesting Lad." He slid his glass to the middle of the table.

"I'm listening." Dunwell lifted a finger to the passing waitress. "Only one more."

"Fair enough." Nare gave him a grateful little nod. "So . . . I had to ask a friend in the Hanza who has some dealings with Merchant's in Gallia. You'd call it a mutual extra-legal arrangement."

"I'd call it racketeering, but do go on." Dunwell said. Not like he had any right to hold his head above criminals these days.

"These fellows have had words with your Lady Sheffield before. Apparently her House arranged a large and ongoing deal to purchase iron ore from Germanian mines on behalf of a number of smaller interests throughout Gallia. They confirmed that she represents the house of Sheffield. But . . ."

Dunwell listened closely.

"When I said an ancient house, extinct is more like it, and extremely reclusive, going back almost half a century. The truth is that they've been dying out for a long time and most would barely recognize the name except from old records." Nare grimaced. "The Last Lady Sheffield died fifteen years ago, and her title was inherited by her daughter."

"The current Lady Sheffield." Dunwell nodded slowly.

"No again . . ." Nare accepted his second glass, swishing the brandy once as he waited for Dunwell to digest what had just been said. "In fact, that Lady Sheffield died six years ago."

"Then a granddaughter?" Dunwell corrected.

Nare tossed back his head as he took the glass in one go. Scirroco would have been impressed. "Doubtful." He blew out a heavy breath. "At the time she passed away, the previous Lady Sheffield was ten years old." Getting up from his chair. The old Dragon Knight stretched slowly. "Not that I care to find out Lad, but it seems to me you've an impostor on your hands."

* * *

><p>The soft whirring noise of the grind wheel, the sudden -clank- and scream as metal met stone in a shower of sparks that spilled down from the point of contact and dusted themselves across the gloves and apron of the Leprechaun Smith. The smell of the oil and of burning metal. The lapping sound of water as the apprentice doused the blade edge. These filled the workshop of the master sword smith Kofu.<p>

For her part, Kofu didn't seem to notice at all. The sparks could have landed on her skin, gotten inside her gloves or down her shirt and burned her, and she would hardly have flinched. Her entire being was concentrated on the blade in front of her.

Shinozaki Rika, Lisbeth, Faerie of the Leprechaun race, and now the apprentice to said sword smith, watched her master at work, holding her breath all the while.

'I should probably be taking notes.' Liz thought.

But she didn't think this was something she could learn by writing it down, not like furnace temperatures or cues in the colors of the metal. She had to watch and then do it for herself.

She saw Kofu cock her head, Liz hesitated, face invisible behind her mask and goggles. The smith made a small adjustment to her grip, altering the angle of the grind as she continued to lightly tap the blade across the stone's surface.

The apprentice smith sighed in relief, she'd thought her master was about to get pissed and throw the blade at the wall like she had with a couple of others in the past. But those incidents were becoming less and less frequent now that she was getting used to her skills as a real smith. Besides, they'd put way too much work into this one to have messed up now.

Kofu always got like this once she was in the shop. The bad attitude and the even worse work ethic just melted off of her, impurities boiling away in the furnace heat until all that was left was the distilled essence of a blacksmith. It was that dedication to the craft that had convinced Liz to stay on as her 'apprentice' long after she would have otherwise given up in frustration.

And her patience was slowly starting to pay off. Liz observed as the ringing metal sang to her sensitive ears, the noises picked apart and analyzed, answers bubbling to the surface. It had taken the better part of the last two and a half months to learn that trick. But once Kofu had told her about it, Liz hadn't been able to stop listening, trying to hear it as she passed the other shops and watched the other smiths at work.

Now, while she wasn't a master at it, she had started to understand what the metal was trying to tell them, its notes pure and clear.

'We got the alloying spot on this time.' Liz pumped her fist.

It was a little thing, not really that important on its own. The art of sword-crafting was not something that could be learned just by leveling up a number, it was a complex, difficult, and beautiful expression of craftsmanship, and Liz knew she was a long way from making a quality sword, much less a masterpiece blade like the Dual Deciders or the special order they were working on right now. But the little signs of progress had sent her heart racing and filled her with pride.

Months living with the sometimes neurotic, always finicky Leprechaun had begun to change her in other ways as well, Liz crossed her arms, biceps growing with the first real muscle she'd ever bothered to put on. She'd helped do inventory at her family's store IRL, but there was no such thing as 'light lifting' in a blacksmith's shop, whether she was cleaning or working the bellows, Liz worked her ass off doing hard physical labor, and her body grew stronger because of it.

"I just hope I don't end up with freakish biceps like hers." Liz muttered out loud.

"What was that about my biceps," A venomous little growl startled Liz from her thoughts, "Oh Apprentice of Mine?" The grinding wheel was spinning down quietly on its journal bearings. Kofu was slowly raising her mask, sharp gold eyes appraising Lisbeth.

'Crap!' Liz thought fast. Thankfully, she wasn't too pressed for an excuse as the bell hung beside the workshop door chimed to announce a customer.

"I'll go get that." Liz backed away slowly and then scrammed. Geez, she was going to be a pain in the ass for the rest of the day, all because she hadn't kept her mouth shut! 'This customer better be a big spender.' Liz hoped. Nothing improved the other girl's mood like seeing a lot of zeros on the invoice.

Not that she was usually that bad, Liz admitted to herself as she made her way down the narrow hall. Other than taking her work seriously, Kofu had practically become obsessive about sharing everything she now knew with Liz, she'd even started calling her by name, sometimes.

Lisbeth tried to tell herself it would be alright, she and Kofu got along after all. 'She's also Kofu.' Liz's shoulders slumped, yeah, better hope the customer was here to buy..

Right then, do or die time, time to put on a winning smile and go get'm! Her domestic harmony depended on it.

"Welcome to Kofu's Sword Shop." Liz declared for the benefit of anyone who had managed to miss the sign outside. The lack of reply was sort of anticlimactic.

When she got a good look at the customer, at first Liz thought she was dealing with another Leprechaun, no one else should have hair _that_ pink. The customer turned from examining one of the swords situated in the display case. Yep, definitely pink, and also female. It took Liz way too long to realize why she found that weird. Then she noticed, ears flat and round, human?

A local.

Liz paused to take her in. "Good day." The woman gathered her arms up in her cloak and gave a small dip of the head. "Would you happen to be the proprietor?" Definitely human. Liz decided.

"Ah . . . The shop owner is in back." Liz supplied as she hurried behind the counter. "I'm her . . . Apprentice." Liz frowned as the woman grew immediately distracted after hearing her answer, squinting as she examined the rapiers that held place of pride.

"Would you mind getting her please." The woman said. "I was recommended here by a previous customer." Then, she went right back to looking over the merchandise.

Right, keep your cool. "I'm sorry." Liz did her best to stay calm. She didn't appreciated being walked over on the way to her boss. Kofu had _hired_ her to deal with customers like this after all. "Could I get a name first?"

"I thought I'd already given it?" And then a small shake of the head. "My apologies, I am Karin Desiree de La Valliere." She answered. "I'm here about purchasing a replacement for this."

The customer placed a cloth wrapped parcel on the counter top. After receiving permission, Liz parted the cloth to reveal a thoroughly mangled sword-wand. The Leprechaun couldn't help but wince in sympathy for the unfortunate weapon.

"You really did a number on it." She said without thinking, too busy examining the fracture edges, failed in yielding rather than simple fatigue, Liz could tell by the subtle warping and signs of plastic deformation along one side, and then simply -snap-. The Noble woman grimaced, brown eyes glinting with something very close to anger. "I mean . . . Just a sec and I'll go get my boss." Liz appeased.

Yikes. Caught between Kofu and the customer, a bad place to be. And de La Valliere . . . Where had she heard that name before? One of the Local Noble houses. Pretty important too. Weren't they the ones financing the new furnaces? Definitely not a good start to her day!

Liz didn't hear much noise coming from the back room, the smith had finished with grinding and moved on to the final polishing of the blade, a process that would take most of the rest of the day to do right, or so Kofu insisted. Then came mounting the blade to its hilt and last minute finishing prior to delivery. Which meant Liz was going to be flying through the night to get the order to Tristania on time.

But it was definitely going to be worth it.

"The customer wants to see you." Liz poked her head back through the door. As expected, the sword smith was lost again in her work, whispering Faerie chants under her breath while she worked over the face of the blade with a fine cotton cloth.

"Can it wait?" Kofu looked up annoyed. "I really don't wanna."

"But you wanna make lots of money." Liz pressed her lips thin, appealing to her boss's greed. "She's a buyer." Kofu's ears perked. "And I think she's a high class noblewoman, so she probably once something fancy and_expensive_."

The smith fell silent again, leaving Liz to wonder if she was just going to be ignored. In that case, marching over to the chair, the smith's apprentice squatted down beside the stool and took hold.

"Hey, what'er you . . .?"

"Lift . . ." Liz grunted " . . . With the legs!"

"Gyah!"

That got her attention, Kofu tumbling from her seat and coming perilously close to fumbling the sword blade from the workbench.

The Smith gasped as shot back up straight. "Why you . . . That's a dirty trick to play on your master you ungrateful . . ."

"Customer." Liz repeated. More importantly. "_Paying_ customer."

Faerie eyes met in a battle of wills.

Torn between her discomfort over dealing with people and her need to do so, at last, the Leprechaun went on mumbling indecent things as she turned to the door, making a big show of how reluctant she was. Probably hoping that Liz would let her splurge on dinner tonight. "Alright, I'm going, I'm going."

The customer was still waiting when they got back, and by the looks of it, she'd heard the racket in the back room. "Just a little spill." Liz explained, all false sweetness as Kofu glared murderously over her shoulder. So much for diplomacy today. Oh well, she'd pick the way she burned.

"I hear you're in the market for a new sword." Kofu stroked her chin as she sidled up to examine the destroyed blade left without comment on the counter top.

"Yes." The Valliere woman said inflectionlessly. "This one has been with me for many years, but . . . first the focus and then the sword itself have given out on me. And both at the worst times." She shook her head, lips pursing unhappily. "It seems it is finally starting to show its age."

Liz's ears perked. She might not have had the customer employee relationship down to a science, but she knew a story behind words when she heard one.

"All things fade with time, I suppose." Kofu said carelessly, earning a swift and unnoticed kick from Liz. You didn't make light when the customer was unhappy.

"All I want to know is can you do it?" The Valliere woman fixed Kofu with a steady gaze. "The sword must be of the highest quality. I will accept nothing less. If not, I can go elsewhere."

Liz cringed, those were fighting words. Whether she knew it or not, Miss Valliere had just challenged the great Smith Kofu whose ego ran as deep as the sea.

The gold haired Leprechaun smiled forcefully. "Heh? Can I do it?" Reaching down to pick up the largest remaining piece of the ruined sword and going over it with an appraising eye. "I'm guessing you want one just like this?"

"As close as possible." Miss Valliere agreed. "And of the highest quality possible. A young man name Kirito told me that you were up to the task."

Liz perked up. Kirito?!

She knew he'd been in a few more scrapes since they'd talked last. He'd been in Goibniu just a week ago looking into, of all things, _armor. _Well, that made sense, a little bit of extra protection was probably looking a lot more appealing now that it was his precious flesh and blood body that was getting cut up. Just what had that jerk been getting up to recently?

The name didn't go unnoticed by Kofu either. "Super Spriggan recommended you?"

"If that is his title . . . " Miss Valliere said again. "He said to trust your workmanship."

"Take pride in what you do." Kofu said, turning the broken blade to examine its edge down its length, she pinged a nail against the metal and listened, Master and Apprentice frowning as one at the unappetizing noise of metal rife with impurities, and few of them any good.

"Sounds like . . ." Kofu began.

"Too much sulfur." Liz finished. It must have been introduced in the forging process. Well, that was the best that could be expected from locally made metals. The local mages sort of knew what they were doing when they made steel, but they didn't quite know how to extract the impurities they produced in the forging process, at least, not remotely efficiently.

Whether that was just a natural byproduct or something to do with their magic . . . Liz's thoughts trailed off as Kofu answered.

"I can do it." Kofu decided at last. "Just one thing . . ."

"The Foci." Miss Valliere practically read the smith's mind.

"Yeah. I can make an ALfheim Spell-sword." Kofu put the wreckage down. "But I don't know if that would work for your magic."

That didn't seem to bother Miss Valliere as much as Liz would have expected. In fact she already seemed to have given it some thought. "That would be fine." The Noblewoman gave a small wave of her hand. "If you can replicate the channel at the back of that blade, I can have it fitted with a focus later. It's common to have the foci crafted to fit the blade, so it won't be a problem."

Kofu nodded sagely. "Got it. Well then, there's just one other thing to prove . . ."

"Oh?" The Customer's eyes narrowed. Looked like she'd been expecting this.

"Yeah." Kofu folded the sword pieces back up into their fabric parcel. "I'm not just going to sell one of my children to anyone. Super Spriggan must have told you." The smug grin, it was the same one that had gotten Kofu punched all those weeks ago.

Liz turned back to the customer waiting for the reply.

The Noblewoman, eyes closed, brow furrowed, gave a small snort, and then a sigh. "You want me to prove my sword craft."

"A Leprechaun blade means something." Kofu explained matter of factly. "And a sword of the smith Kofu means even more. I can't just let anyone wave them around and give my weapons a bad reputation. You _look_ like you can handle a sword, but I have to see for myself." Without breaking eye contact with the customer, Kofu called over her shoulder. "Apprentice, go get the display case key, I wanna see if she has it in her."

Liz bit down on a curse. "What about finishing the order?" This was due at the parade grounds by tomorrow morning. It would be embarrassing if they couldn't get it there on time. Wasn't Kofu the one who had just been talking about her reputation?

"I'll get right back to it." The master smith worked her shoulders loose, surprisingly, the customer didn't look at all bothered as she removed her own cloak and gloves to make ready. "To save me some time, how about you do the engraving."

Liz stopped her grumbling and looked up. "What? Really?" She'd practiced some as part of her apprenticeship, so she could definitely do it, she just hadn't expected to be asked so soon.

Her boss gave her a mild look of surprise as if she didn't think Liz would find it so amazing. "Yeah. You _did_ work as much on it as me." Probably more keeping the furnace hot, the bellows going, and doing all the unskilled labor intensive work to support the forging process. "You put your soul into it too, so it's only fair, Liz."

"But . . . we haven't pick a name for it yet." It wasn't one of the pattern swords from ALO, this one was on of Kofu's unique creations. A spell-sword specially made for a specific wielder. One who's reputation was so big that even Kofu hadn't complained about making it without seeing her in action.

"You're right." Kofu growled, stroking her chin as if thinking hard. "It's no good for that child not to have a name. So I've been thinking." She suddenly smiled. "I've got it. How about . . . Yeah . . . How about we call it _Queen Mab?_"


	2. Prologue Pt 2: Tinkers

So yeah, just an advanced warning that it's going to be a while before we get back to Louise.

* * *

><p>Halkegenia Online v3.0 - Prologue - Part 2<p>

Mornings.

Hyuuga hated mornings.

Mornings were supposed to happen to _other_ people. And now, without even the benefit of caffeine, the former Nuclear Engineer turned Leprechaun Faerie was hurting alright as she made her way alongside the rows of identical wooden buildings, barely more than hastily constructed barns, that served as the housing and indoor 'laboratories' of the illustriously named Tristain Royal Institute of Science and Technology.

'Someone had really wanted _that_ self-referential backronym.' Hyuuga mused.

An impressive name for a not so impressive collection of shacks. The place didn't look like much now, a cluster of wood buildings and a few earthen berms thrown up to give Hyuuga and her staff of volunteers someplace reasonably safe and contained to test and showcase their more incendiary experiments.

But that was changing all the time, like right now in fact, a sensitive Leprechaun ear picked out the sounds that had roused her at sunrise. Hammers and handsaws from the far side of the compound, the native carpenters and mage craftsmen hard at work on the latest addition, a brick and mortar building that would, upon its completion, become the 'Metallurgy Lab'.

'Rucks must be happy with that.' She furrowed her brow. The stout Gnome alchemist and his team had come a long way in very little time, so it was natural they would be awarded the nice new structure as their playhouse. That didn't mean Hyuuga wasn't feeling the disappointment.

She'd wanted the first permanent building to go to her own team, but it couldn't be helped. Results demanded a reward, and as of yet, she and hers didn't have many of those. Oh, they'd knocked together some prototypes with the help of their innate crafting knowledge, working models and proofs of concept that had intrigued a few of their noble financiers, and of course, had gotten Lord Mortimer's undivided attention and Lord Rute's open salivation. Being citizens of the twenty first century, in general, the Fae Lords didn't need any convincing about the merits of 'new' technology.

But they were a long ways off from a useful product. There was a world of difference between a showcase piece like, a tabletop steam engine, and a fully functioning steam plant that was built to do useful work. They either needed to build big, to get power from low pressure, which meant lots and lots of mrtal, meaning the Gnomes needed to get their smelters running first, and result in a plant that would need a monstrous amount of space to operate. Or build high pressure, which was to say high stress, high tolerance, and high temperature, all the things they couldn't do just yet.

Hyuuga stuffed her hands back into her pockets, warding off another sigh.

They needed to build the tools to build the tools before they could even _think_ of undertaking something as ambitious as a steam engine as more than a novelty project. But, a fist balled inside the pocket of her coat, the fact that she could actually see the steps laid out was a sort of triumph.

The metallurgy. The tools. The machining methods.

Soon enough they would have it. And then, the Leprechaun almost drooled at the thought . . . All of that _power_ bound up by hot, oily metal, forced into physical action. The powerful strokes of rods and torquing of axles. Just thinking about it got her all tingly.

Alas, that was in the future. In the now, she had much more modest advancements, or rather, 'revancements' to use Hegent's term, to report. It wasn't anything to get excited about. But it'd pay the bills, and hopefully keep them funded for a while longer so that they could start to pursue medium and long term goals.

Milking the money cows. Now there was something that she knew a little bit about from her project leader days. And there were the owners of said cows come to market now, she thought at her first sighting of the delegation of Nobles gathering near the eastern berm, along with three of the Faerie Lords, military officers and men with commanding interests among the trade guilds of Tristain, the sort of men who they needed if they wanted to make money off of the technology and practices that TRIST intended to introduce.

More importantly, the guards. _Royal_ Guards, two still mounted comfortably atop Griffins, the rest standing dismounted with shouldered muskets. Which meant that a certain Princess, soon to be Queen, was also attending today.

"I do hope I haven't kept you waiting long!" They'd gotten here earlier than expected, Hyuuga cursed inwardly. She'd been scarfing down a late breakfast when an anxious Yuyu had hurried in to tell her they'd arrived. Luckily, everything was set up for the demonstration and they'd just been waiting on the observers.

Picking up the pace into a jog that left her white lab coat flapping behind her, the Leprechaun only slowed to give a small bow. "Good morning to you all. Let me extend my warmest thanks for making time in all of your busy schedules to be here today."

Hyuuga's eyes naturally fell upon the dreamy eyed looking Leprechaun standing nearby, along with her nervous minder. Hegent could have at least led them to the field instead of leaving them mulling around here, especially with _those_ two among the audience.

"Princess Henrietta, Prince Wales." Hyuuga bowed to both Royals, out of genuine gratitude as much as their value as sponsors. Both had shown the greatest interest and support for the work they were doing. Among a sea of skeptics, at least on the side of Tristain's nobility, it was nice to have a few voices cheering for them.

"Chief Hyuuga," The Princess smiled sweetly, "I'm glad to see you well. I hope your ambitions have come along since last we spoke."

"Only a little I'm afraid." Hyuuga smiled back wanly. "But I wouldn't worry too much, it hardly affects what we're going to show everyone today."

"Yes, Admiral La Ramee reported that it was most impressive when last we spoke." Prince Wales observed. "He was quite pleased with your work. A shame the Triumviri couldn't make it today."

"Pardon?" Hyuuga tugged at a lock of metallic brown hair.

"His little name for General Gramont, Lord Mortimer, and Admiral La Ramee." Henrietta poked her cousin in the shoulder. "He sometimes forgets that not everyone thinks to call them that."

"It is not just I." The Prince protested. "Nor am I the one who devised the title. But it does seem fitting, given how inseparable the three are."

"Like schoolboys I suppose." Henrietta agreed.

Hyuuga nodded her head politely, filing the little tidbit away for later use. "I see. Any reason why the _Triumviri_ are indisposed today?" Maybe it was something good. Sadly, she was disappointed by how mundane it turned out to be.

"Drafting a budget I believe." Henrietta supplied promptly. "They and their staff have been working on it since before the Gala. First it was to convince the House of Peers, but since the Gala attack . . ." Henrietta's voice trailed off

The Leprechaun couldn't help but wince. She'd only heard about it after it was wall over. The blessing and curse of being out of the way. Thankfully, it hadn't been too much of a distraction for her staff.

Henrietta recomposed herself. " . . . Well, since then, the House has become more aware of the dangers we face. But an estimate of costs still has to be submitted, along with a plan for levying troops and equipping the army for war." The Princess sighed. "It really is a miserable necessity."

"The true hazard of soldiering." Prince Wales lamented. "To battle with paper, and bleed ink!"

Not just a hazard to soldiers, Hyuuga rubbed at her own wrist, she was growing to despise quills more and more with each passing day. "Well then, I think you've all been left waiting for far too long." Even though they couldn't have been here more than two or three minutes!

"Cardinal Mazarin, Duke de La Valliere, good day. Ah, Count Woestte, I hope you've been well."

The shorter nobleman gave a derisive snort. For all of his sponsorship, he seemed to very deliberately remain unimpressed by anything that Hyuuga or her staff demonstrated or described. Most people probably just thought he was a huge jerk, even if they never said it to his face, but she thought she had him figured out.

It was a bargaining tactic, never showing how much interest he actually held, never giving his cards away. Hyuuga decided she'd just have to gauge him off of his fellow Nobles.

Next, the Lords, including her own pompous superior. "Lord Rute, an honor as always. And Lord Thinker." She bowed to the Leprechaun and exchanged bows with the Undine Lord. And lastly, "Lady Zia?"

"Lady Sakuya couldn't make it today I'm afraid." The pale and delicate Puca girl whispered melodically. "I offered to come in her place. Though, I'm sure Sakuya-san is more qualified by far . . ."

Hyuuga gave the girl a sympathetic smile. Much too modest. The Puca might have chosen her because she was cute, but it sounded like she had a real level head and a knack for dealing peacefully with the nobility. At least, that was how the papers, delivered every morning by the couriers making the Twin Capitals Run had been describing it.

"Captain Fevis, Captain Eltin, Captain Lydel . . ." Hyuuga carefully reeled off the titles of the other nobles in descending order of prestige, pleased that she managed to keep the names straight and attached to their faces.

"Now then, if you'd just follow this way." Hyuuga gestured for the benefit of their sponsors, towards the open fields where the first demonstration was to be made.

"I do hope this is as impressive as old Eren has been saying." Count Woestte grunted as he conjured up an air currant to cool himself in the beating morning sun, a servant holding an umbrella beside him. "I hate to have my time wasted, Chief Hyuuga."

Hyuuga smiled to herself. With each passing day, as she'd brought together her team and they had erected their lab spaces, transcribed the designs books from the Arrun Central Library, and begun putting that knowledge and their first world educations to good use, she had grown more confident. TRIST was on the verge of delivering an _explosion_ of breakthroughs to its host Kingdom.

It had amazed Hyuuga, no history buff, just how many clever inventions and ideas had been forgotten over the centuries, old technology displaced by new. Now, those ideas had a chance to shine again, if only for a little while as they built up the momentum to leapfrog forward to still greater advancements.

It became more a matter of when, than if, a variable controlled by the limited manpower and resources at their disposal.

"I'll confess, Count Woestte, I _am_ a little disappointed by the meager fruits of our labors. _But . . ._" Hyuuga let that hang in the air long enough to turn heads. " . . . I'm sure that you'll be please all the same." Very pleased. "And also delighted by the projects we have in the works in the meantime." There was no doubt in her mind of that.

Still, the short little man's grumbling was getting a little obnoxious until he was silenced by the Duke de La Valliere. "Now, now, my good fellow. I think we have nothing to fear if what Lord Rute had shown us is any indication."

Woestte fell silent for a moment, then nodded as he exhaled. "Marvelous quality." A shake of the head as he added in near disbelief. "And over a thousand half libra ingots from that one small furnace!"

"Bessemer converter." The Duke de La Valliere rumbled. "Quite ingenious to combine the properties of air, earth, _and_ fire in such a way to achieve their ends. The natural philosophers of the Fae homeland could teach us much I dare say."

"Well, it's not so simple in practice, Duke de La Valliere." Hyuuga mused aloud. "It took a long time to hit on the process originally, and even longer for us to figure out what was going on to make it work. Though, I think the results speak for themselves . . ." Now they just needed a way to mass enchant during the alloying and heat treatment processes and that steel could become a base for dark amalgam high carbon alloy, or so her Leprechaun smithing knowledge told her.

"I would rather like to see this machine in operation." Woestte declared. "If such can be arranged."

"I'm sure it can, Count Woestte." Lord Thinker said easily. "The industrial units are being constructed now in Goibniu's forging district, but I believe the prototype was installed here if I'm not mistaken."

"You aren't." Hyuuga replied, waving to a pair of her Gnome underlings as they trundled past, each hefting a crate full of supplies bound for the metallurgy lab like it was nothing. Not only had the converter been built here, it had been left in place at special request. The small unit, with a capacity of only two hundred and fifty kilos of refined steel wasn't nearly as big as the units being built in the Leprechaun city, but it was almost perfect for their prototyping needs. "In fact, we have a batch being processed as we speak. They should be ready to pour around the time we finish with the demos, if you'd like to watch."

"It would be a pleasure, Chief Hyuuga, we assure you." The Duke de La Valliere promised.

"A pleasure that will no doubt be all the greater when we start to see the first profits. The first furnace should be ready for production by the end of the month." Lord Rute added, his unabashed greed showing through in the glint of his eyes. Hyuuga could only think he was counting the Yurudo in his head.

"And the buyers are all lined up." Count Woestte agreed, rubbing his hands expectantly as he leaned close to Rute.

Hyuuga shuddered, they were disturbingly perfect for each other.

Prince Wales raised a brow archly. "Oh? I do hope you mean the Army. If this steel quality can be maintained, I do believe it will become a fine replacement for bronze in our cannons."

"Not just cannons." Lord Thinker added. "If we can secure large quantities of iron from Germania, better mass produced equipment for the commoner soldiers as well, and new tools for the civilian markets."

And armor cladding, and _steam_ engines, Hyuuga wiped away the drool before anyone noticed, and where was she? Oh yes! "And here we are." She waved to the less than grandiose site of today's demonstration.

The clearing, sided out to about a hundred meters to either side by raised earthen berms and backed by another berm a little bit over a kilometer out, was what could best be described as a firing range, or perhaps a gunnery range given the capacity of the local artillery.

Targets, wooden cut outs and stacks of painted hay bales, had been arranged at regular intervals out to the berms, and a particularly large target sitting at extreme range, the gutted hulk of a Tristanian Brig judged too decrepit to continue service.

Most of the ship had been set down in the field as target practice, the useful bits, the ballasting engine and fittings, and had been removed for reuse, planking and fixtures from the starboard gun deck had been reassembled at this end of the range, forming a mock gunnery deck fitted with ten of Albion's 'advanced' cannons.

Hyuuga snorted at the monicker like it was a bad joke. 'Advanced?!' She'd made a better potato gun in grade school! The Leprechaun led the observers to towards a sideless tent erected to provide a shaded place to watch over the proceedings. Meanwhile, the rest of her team hurried about on the range, making final adjustments.

Not all of them were Faeries.

Hyuuga watched the collection of commoner workers eagerly going about their duties. Canonneers supplied by Tristain and the Albion exiles, well, mostly supplied, some had volunteered, including a host of fellows from some small town up in the North who'd caught wind that a Fae project was looking for men experienced in soldiering, gunnery, and marksmanship.

That had been Lord Mortimer's idea. Half the battle of introducing something new was getting it accepted, and half of that battle was convincing the old guard to like it. They'd be retraining seasoned soldiers as much as training recruits in how to use the new weapons, so they might as well get a head start.

Which lead to another sensitive subject. Hyuuga frowned. Weapons . . . It wasn't as if she hadn't wrestled with that dilemma before. Using knowledge of science to help or hurt. Nuclear energy and nuclear weaponry for example. Sure, the current Prime Minister of Japan had been making noises and talking big about the development of full unmanned Drones for the Self Defense Forces, no way that one was going anywhere any time soon, the AI to pull it off was _decades_ away, at best.

But for a Japanese citizen born at the very tail end of the twentieth century, with nearly five decades of peace insulating her from the times her Grandfather had talked about, war had always been an abstraction. Now, however, that abstraction was her reality. Even if the weapons she was helping to create were popguns compared to what their own world had at its disposal.

Hegent could ignore those sorts of things as she went on in her own little world, dreaming up crazy inventions to combine magic and science, like the little piston engine she'd been sketching up, driven by 'melting' windstone shards. And Yuyu, well, that particular Faerie was too busy keeping her head down, and Hegent's head _attached_ to think much about the topic.

Which was why she'd asked Rucks how he felt about it, and gotten back what was probably the best answer she was ever going to find.

The truth was, they didn't have much of a choice. Everyone had a right to live, and no one had the right to take that away. But humans didn't think too much about those rights sometimes. Sometimes you had to make tools to do unto others, and then hope that you were wise and merciful enough to not do too badly unto them.

So with that in mind, she took a breath as the Royals and Nobles were seated, their financiers, and then begun her introduction.

"I know that it goes without saying. But let me start by thanking you all for your time, interest, and funding of our ventures. I know that not everyone who wished to attend could be here today, but they asked that this demonstration go forward regardless. I am Chief Engineer Hyuuga of the Tristain Royal Institute of Science and Technology, or TRIST for short." Hyuuga patted a hand against her chest. "It has been my great honor to be asked to provide you all with this demonstration and progress report."

"This will be a showcasing of the new ordinance, will it not?" Captain Fevis of the Royal Navy raised his hand. "Does that mean that you have discovered the secret to Albion's new cannons?"

"Yes, and yes." Hyuuga replied. "As you'll see in just a moment." She coughed to clear her throat and catch her place. "Now, as I'm sure you're all aware, this institution was founded at the Express Request of Queen Marianne and Cardinal Mazarin." Always, giving a small bow of thanks to the man who had made this all possible. "With the express purpose of exploring the application of the technology of our homeworld for the betterment of the Kingdom in both military and civil fields."

Waving a hand to the demonstration being arranged within view. "Unfortunately, at this time, the emphasis is more on the former than the latter as you will see now. It was concerns over Albion's acquisition of these long range cannons that first prompted the Crown to come to us for a solution. So it seems fitting that we begin the day's events with a demonstration, not only of Albion's new weapons, but also, their workings and . . ." She fought the twitching of her lip, craftswoman's pride, even if the fruits of her labor were something horrible, they were still her children " . . . our improvements."

"Yuyu, would you please call to the men that they can make ready." Hyuuga instructed, the other Leprechaun hopping into action to direct the rest of the Faerie and human staff. A month ago, not knowing any better, she would have told them to load the cannons well before hand, now, after all of the research she'd done on the topic, she understood why that simply wasn't done with these primitive muzzle loaders.

The field was cleared, guns were wrestled into position, while Hyuuga walked up beside the nearest cannon, unmounted from its carriage, and of course, unloaded, set beside a smaller shape still draped in canvas.

"_This_ is an Albionian 'Advanced' model naval cannon captured during the raid on York. It can fire a twenty four libres projectile, a twenty four pounder in Albionian parlance, out to an effective range of approximately two thousand one hundred mails, around a league and half, from an effective elevation of zero and inclination of plus five degrees." Hyuuga's eyes narrowed. "It is at this time, among the deadliest known mundane artillery available in bulk to the Forces of Albion."

There were spells that could hit harder, and there were spells that could cast father, but none that could do both and fielded in any real quantity.

Hyuuga paused for dramatic effect, letting what she had said sink in. Most of the Nobles _knew_ about the superior cannons, they hadn't known just how far they were outstripped until now. It would have been a disaster to let them know how badly they were outmatched. And _only_ now were they permitted to know as TRIST readied to supply Tristain with an effective countermeasure.

"The range of these cannons is not, in itself what is so worrisome." Prince Wales observed quietly. "Rather, coupled with Albion's already superior ships of the line. I would say, even with their present losses, that if these cannons can be equipped across the entire battle line, the Rebel Navy would be able to contest the combined fleets of Tristain and Germania, perhaps even Romalia as well, if they choose to remain on the defensive and do not surrender the altitude gauge."

"Advantage atop advantage." Captain Fevis whispered. "Is there no end to the luck the devil showers them with?"

"There is." Hyuuga promised as she ran her hands over the cold metal surface, feeling the texture, and almost, _almost, _feeling _inside_ the texture, to the flaws, and defects, microscopic cracks, and strain flows, the billions of displaced atoms, the deformed structure where carbon prevented the smooth sliding of iron in sheer.

"Prince Wales, Captain Fevis, I'm sure you're both able to see that these Albionian cannons are different from the ones you're used to." Hyuuga slapped a palm against the top of the barrel.

"Yes, an elongated body, and enlarged reinforce rings along the length, particularly at the breech." Wales said with a well-practiced eye. "Certainly, lengthening the cannon will improve its firing range. This has always been well understood by naval gunners." The Prince crossed his arms, shaking his head as he frowned. "It is not a solution by any measure. The benefit of every mail of barrel diminishes until it can no longer justify the added weight of the cannon."

"Very true." Captain Fevis agreed. "And so far, none of the naval officers we have detained have been able to tell us the secret of these cannons. It cannot merely be their make, the ones we have tested have not been so exceptionally superior to our own in test firing."

Of course they wouldn't be. "That's because you were only looking at one half of the equation." Hyuuga said. "When the ships were captured, you were in a hurry to load them up and get out of Albion as fast as possible. I heard that you ditched a lot of their gunpowder so that you could fill them with the stolen cannons."

"And in case any fool decided to scuttle our prizes." Captain Fevis agreed.

"Well, what you probably didn't know at the time, was that the powder you were throwing overboard was the _other_ secret." Said Hyuuga as she reached for a small, hempen pouch set beside the cannon breech. "I guess the designers of these guns wanted to keep the secret to their functioning for as long as possible, so they had the powder pre-milled and shipped in packaged allotments." She reached on hand in, feeling at the round pellets as she extracted a fistful for perusal. "Luckily we were able to piece the mystery together based on the charge bags that were still on-board, and looking at our own history."

The marshal Nobles, the Prince, Captain Fevis, Captain Lydel, and the Duke of Valliere all leaned close.

"It's . . . pellets?" Prince Wales pondered.

"Most unusual." Captain Fevis grunted. "Though I suppose it might be shaped that way easily enough, but why?"

"The proper term is corned." Hyuuga grinned. "And as Duke de La Valliere would say, 'Air and Fire'."

"Air . . ." Prince Wales muttered.

"And Fire." Captain Lydel's eyes widened the revelation struck him. "The spacing. To ensure thorough combustion!"

"Right you are." Hyuuga said. At least someone here got it. She guessed it was like a lot of obvious things, not so obvious if you never thought about it in the right light. "Actually, I was little surprised at first to learn that your gunpowder _wasn't_ granulated. It's something the adopters of cannons learned fairly early on."

But then again, on Earth, Cannons had been the premier bombardment weapon. In Halkegenia, they were the weapons of siege bombardment, to exhaust enemy mages while keeping their own fresh for the assault, and sky ships, which didn't trade fire nearly as often as the fleets of Earth's history. Air fleets were just too expensive to operate so casually, part of what made Albion's wind stone reserves such a strategic resource. And their limited endurance, along with certain death of the crew if destroyed, made battles of maneuver more often preferred."

It wasn't surprising really, that given the pressures, there hadn't been quite the same emphasis to develop cannons and gunpowder further. And yet, small arms were actually quite sophisticated with wheel and flint lock mechanisms making up the majority of 'modern' muskets. Maybe those gun designs, like the cannons and black powder before them, had been imported from Rub Al Khali.

"Combine wind and fire, more together than they could ever be apart." The Duke muttered under his breath. "A brilliant deduction, Chief Hyuuga. Then, the secret is in this 'corned powder'?"

"Oh yeah." The Leprechaun poured the pellets back into their pouch. "Not only does it combust more completely, making it more powerful, it's much more _consistent_."

Of course either Wales or Lydel would be able to dissect what that meant. "A consistent charge would mean better range." Wales said sagely. "More importantly, it would be more accurate, if the gunners can rely on the fact that there shot will fly the same each time . . . "

"Yes." Captain Fevis agreed. "It would take the guesswork out of our gunnery. So, longer range, and greater accuracy to use that range. Even worse than we thought."

"We intend to recast most of Tristain's naval cannons to match these long range guns." Lord Thinker said. "It will take time, but we should have enough materials. In the meantime, Tristain can field one squadron of ships with its own advanced cannons."

"But the Rebels have a head start. If they had enough of these cannons to equip an entire squadron, it won't be long at all before production replaces their losses to us. And what about manufacturing this powder?" Captain Eltin of the Dragon Knights asked. "Is there any secret to it?"

"Nothing that will make its production difficult." Hyuuga assured. "In fact, you already know to wet the powder during production, you just have to granulate it before setting it out to dry. And as for the accuracy, don't give the Rebels too much credit. Their guns may be more consistent, but if they're still using wood blocks and eyeballs to aim, then they aren't getting nearly their full use out of them, here." She beckoned for the Nobles to come closer. "Let me show you what we've been working on."

As expected, curiosity and good faith drew them in. Now, results would catch them hook line and sinker. A month, even a month of hard work, wasn't a whole lot of time. They'd needed to hit low hanging fruit, but fruit that would get results. This was one of those juicy bits of fruit. "Now, I'm sure you can see that there is nothing particularly special about the canon itself, but if I may direction your attention to the carriage."

"You mean these mechanisms?" Captain Fevis hooked a finger around the rim of a hand wheel, itself attached to a screw and plate that formed something not unlike a large vice.

These screws had started life as spares from the Lathe project that was Yuyu's responsibility, well it was Hegent's project, but mostly she wondered off into her own little world until an 'interesting' part of the design process cropped up that needed solving. Now, they made a perfectly serviceable elevation control. Sturdy, self-locking, and reasonably accurate, she couldn't have asked for more from the mage craftsmen who had shaped them, even if he was mortified that his fine 'clockwork expertise' was being put to work assembling something as gross as cannon carriage mechanism.

"These are elevation controls. Basically, a more consistent aiming mechanism to go along with the more consistent charge." Hyuuga explained. "Turning the elevation screws will allow the guns to be aimed much more precisely since each turn of the screw will result in almost exactly one tenth of a degree change in elevation." She pointed to the rear of the cannon where a plate and dial had been welded in place. "See here, the operators can use this to adjust based on the gunner's instructions."

Elevation control, and accurate gauging of elevation was even more important aboard an airship. After all, the cannons inherently needed a wider range of traverse to engage an enemy at differing elevation. So Hyuuga had been sure this one would impress them.

"I've heard of the Germanians dreaming up such things." Captain Lydel muttered. "But I've never seen them in person. Too expensive."

Lord Thinker shook his head. "Not for much longer if TRIST's other projects pan out. We could have all of the cannons equipped like this."

"It's still only as good as the gunner's eye." Wales furrowed his brow. "Unless you have machines for that as well."

The Leprechaun chuckled. "I thought you'd never ask, your Highness, if you notice the iron mechanism beside the breach, the one mounted on a hinge. If you would be so kind."

The Prince did as instructed, garnering more curious mutters from the Nobility as Hyuuga explained the workers of the primitive sight. And it really _was_ primitive, barely more than two metal brackets with notches marked into forward sight to make elevation adjustments for full and half powder load as well as both heavy and standard shot.

The precision it represented wasn't a great improvement over the naked eyes, but by forcing the gunners to conform to a standardized framework to judged barrel elevation, hopefully, the grouping of a salvo would be improved.

"So, as you can see, we've taken what Albion has given us, added a little something of our own to the mix, and now . . ." Hyuuga fished into her pocket for her appraisers monocle, placing it before her eye as she flourished a hand to the mock gun deck where the cannon crews were awaiting the order. "Princess Henrietta, if you would do the honors."

"Oh. Is that alright?" The Princess, who had remained politely observant, but left the speaking to her military advisers, looked quite taken by the suggestion. Of course, she was about to become Queen, the Crown Ruler of Tristain. Technically, these guns all belonged to her.

"Not only is it alright." Hyuuga laughed. "I insist, Princess."

"If I might offer." Prince Wales leaned close to whisper in her ear. The Princess listened carefully and then nodded, coughing to clear her throat before raising her voice to a clear shout.

"Gunnery Chiefs, ready the batteries!"

Shouts of 'Aye' came from the men prepared on the 'deck', taking up firing positions beside each of their cannons.

"Survey range!"

"Aim!"

Then, waiting as the crews mad their final adjustments, Henrietta turned to Wales, whispering "Now?"

The Prince nodded. "Now."

Turning back to the field. "Gunners. Fire!"

One thing to be said about the big guns. They didn't -crack-, they -boomed- with tooth rattling force, driving back on their heavy, slab carriages as recoil was absorbed into anchoring ropes and chain, fire spitting in long tongues, along with clouds of billowing smoke that obscured the view until Captain Eltin whisked it away with his wand.

No sooner had the guns finished firing then the observers turned their attention to the field. All muttering stopped as they saw the results.

Ten targets had been arranged along the length of the field, hay stacks or wood cutouts with a cross section of a alf dozen square meters apiece, spaced roughly equidistant down the line until just before the grounded hull of the old brig. Every one of them save the last had been hit, and the farthest target had been a near thing judging by the geyser of dirt that had just been dug up.

Of course, the guns had been given plenty of time to sight on perfectly still targets under the hand of skilled crews, all the same, it couldn't have driven the point home more beautifully.

Now, to sell them on it. "We're ready to begin talks with the guilds in Goibniu about serial production of the new elevation mechanisms and sights. We should be able to make enough for all of the existing guns, and retrofit them in no more than two months."

"Astounding." Captain Fevis breathed, gray eye glittered with calculations as the Captain of Tristain's flagship tried and failed to fully comprehend what this meant for his own profession.

Big changes. Big, BIG changes. That was what it meant. And once they had steel production down, well. Hegent wasn't the only one who dreamed of combining technology with native magic.

Hyuuga eyed the old Brig's hulk. This one would never fly again, but about a week back, while stretching her wings, she'd run across the hull of a frigate touched down in an old abandoned slip at the edge of some Noble estate or other, still in surprisingly good condition, just abandoned midway through construction.

A shame too. Even to Hyuuga's unpracticed eye, she would have been _beautiful, _a graceful white dart of a ship, with sails radiating in a five mast configuration around her prow. Even her name, paint long faded, but engraved wood proudly proclaiming her the _Elsa. _

A little fishing around had revealed that she was an old Albionian style clipper commissioned years ago by the then obscenely wealthy Montmorency family, but when their fortunes had dried up, so had interest in the project.

She was unwanted, she was unloved, she was unfinished. She was _perfect_.

The Montmorency patriarch at the time, deluding himself that he'd recover the family fortunes, had squandered quite a bit of money on having the hull set with a spell of permanence. It had weathered the years astonishingly well, and though Hyuuga was no expert on carpentry, her timbers had appeared sound. And with that voluminous cargo hold, set perfectly to house some of the power plants she'd been sketching out . . . She just needed the money to _buy_ her. And then, the Elsa might finally fly on wings her original masters had never dreamed of.

How much could a half-completed ship cost anyways?

But if she wanted that money, she reminded herself, she'd have to earn it.

"Now that I have your undivided attention and have demonstrated stage one of the Tristain Armaments Initiative, allow me to show you the first fruits of stage _two_."

Another dramatic flourish to draw attention to the small, canvas covered object, and then the heavy fabric was pulled aside to reveal what lay beneath. The muttering this time was considerably more subdued, but nonetheless curiosity reigned as the second, much smaller cannon was looked over.

"A light cannon. This can't be more than a three pounder." Prince Wales stroked his chin. "Though, quite exquisitely crafted. Is this made with steel from the new furnace?"

Hyuuga nodded before allowing the Prince to continue his observations. "And another of these sighting mechanisms."

"A refined version, it was much harder to make." She confirmed. But they hadn't had much of a choice if it was going to be accurate at range against targets that were smaller than an entire ship."

"And these . . . springs?" Captain Fevis commented, probing at the heavy steel coils. "Is that not a bit dangerous?"

"Not just springs." Hyuuga corrected archly, pointing at the spring assemblies to the rod within. "As you can see, this mechanism integrates a hydraulic system as well. Not merely a spring, but a _shock_ absorber." They'd been lucky to find an ALfheim material almost perfectly suited to forming the tight seal that they needed, and a native alchemist that had been able to synthesize a good approximation to mineral oil.

Of course, the ideal would be that the absorber reset the cannon for the next shot, but that was a little beyond their abilities for now. Hyuuga had been perfectly happy to settle for a mechanism that would allow the cannon to be mounted on a lightweight, two horse transportable carriage.

"A lovely piece of craftsmanship." Captain Elten said. "But hardly cannon suited for a ship."

"That's because it isn't meant for a ship." She said confidently, watching the confusion of the mages with mild pleasure. This was the best part about explaining something new and interesting. Mages were used to thinking of cannons as bombardment device and fortification weapons, not _support_ weapons. Support was a job for dot and line mages, and so cannons had languished until Lord Mortimer had started studying just how they were used here in Halkegenia.

Then the Salamander had started some rambling talk about some King or other . . . Hyuuga _really_ wasn't good with history.

The Leprechaun continued her explanation. "This is a prototype for the infantry cannons that Lord Mortimer wants us to produce, the XM-1 'Arbalest'." Because all new weapons needed a code name! "Although it's meant for the infantry, its small size also makes it perfect for prototyping, it includes many features we hope to incorporate into naval cannons. And of course, in addition to this for the infantry . . ." She reached down to a final package beside the Arbalest, revealing the contents to the gathered nobles.

"A musket?" Captain Elten sounded almost dismissive. "Is this what Lord Mortimer has you working on?"

"A rifle actually." Hyuuga hefted the bulky huntsman's weapon. She was no good with it, but some of the canonneers were excellent shots, especially with the new ammunition. "Catch!" She tossed the weapon, and a paper cylinder, not too different in dimensions to a wrapper full of coins.

"What the devil is this?" Captain Elten squinted as he pulled the paper open and a pile of even more finely granulated corned powder poured out, followed by a musket ball, or rather, something that would have resembled a greased musket ball if it weren't conical.

"That, Captain Elten, is a _Minie_ Ball." Hyuuga answered with cold pride in evil thing she had birthed into this unexpecting world. "And when you get a look at what a rifle can do with one of those, you're going to see things in a whole new light."


	3. Prologue Pt 3: Recruitment

This one will conclude the prologue. This first scene should probably have been in the epilogue for v2.0, but it was already getting monstrously long so I thought they'd work better here.

Halkegenia Online v3.0 - Prologue Part 3

Damn them.

Worse then the betrayal.

Damn them.

Worse then the humiliation of being had by that bastard Janglers and his men.

DAMN THEM!

Worse even than being captured, his ambitions ruined.

It was the waiting that was slowly sapping away the last of Terrance de Martou's will. The waiting while the Crown finally decided what was going to be done with him. Once again he rocked from side to side, trying pointlessly to loosen the binds tied tightly around his forearms. Around, and around, and around, again and again until he could barely feel his fingers.

He'd been like this for hours now, set into the interrogation chair, the walk here, his first human contact in what had to have been days.

They'd all been eager, the red and black garbed men, and their accompanying torturers, to extract what they wanted from him. He'd never let the former need use of the latter.

Terrance de Martou was not a brave man. And so, they had found no resistance, no tight lips in need of loosening. For days he'd hardly been let to rest as they questioned and prodded and coaxed him to infer and offer up every last thing he'd known, even things he hadn't known that he'd known.

And after they'd gotten everything, everything he could give them, everything they had come for, they had left as wordlessly as they'd arrived.

This was the final fate of Terrance de Martou, sympathizer to the glorious cause of the Reconquista and criminal to the Crown of Tristain. Criminal to Tristain . . . and pawn of Albion. He raged within himself. Did he have no dignity left to cling too?!

Now, he was alone again in the dark. Only his own wandering thoughts for company. A much more subtle torture than any hot brand or dull knife.

He'd never even allowed for himself to consider the possibility of his capture. To do so would have driven him from this path in fear. It would be the gallows for him surely. There was nothing else to be said for it. For his crimes he would face execution.

Terrance's head sagged low. How had it come to this?! It had all been so perfect. He would win back fame and title. He would be a gentleman with enough money to never again need his criminal connections, and well respected for his part in bringing the conflict to a close with so little spilled blood.

Now, Father and Grandfather would have killed him themselves if they'd known this would be the fate of their line, gambling away the family's fortunes, ignoring obligations and snubbing family allies, leaving mother to rot in that hovel of a manor until her last days.

He'd made back some of the money through his illicit dealings, but he could never regain the loss of reputation. Thinking about this only now as the hour of his demise neared.

Joining up with the Reconquistadors was supposed to have been his chance!

Now, it only meant he had something the Crown wanted to rip from his tongue before they killed him. He had cooperated, as they had asked, to spare himself pain. But he at least deserved to know his fate, to have it told to him, as a formality, nothing more.

It was all that Jangler's fault! He knew it! Using him like this, not letting him know what was really happening, planning to dispose of him all the while!

Damn him! Damn them!

Sinuses burned as hot tears came to his eyes. Could they not just kill him now and end his humiliation?

"D-D-damn you . . . you bastards . . . !"

The noise of grinding iron roused him from his thoughts, the sound as the heavy door grated against its stone frame causing his head to rise.

Footfalls, silence, and then . . .

"Good evening Mister de'Martou."

Was it evening? He could not say, having not seen the sun in . . . days? Weeks?

No wait, the voice of a woman?

He pondered, it sounded that way, but he could not yet see. The interrogation chair was turned to the far wall, and high backed so that the door remained out of view.

An interrogator could arrive, speak their business, and leave, without ever being seen by the subject save as a shadow cast by the lantern light. But he felt her, the presence of another so close beside him, and then, brushing past into his truncated field of vision.

De'Martou squinted in the dim lantern light. He'd grown quite good with faces over the years. Better than most. The need to know a man, or woman, on sight who went by more than one name was essential in his line of work.

So as it were, he did recognize the face that he was confronted by now with its severe expression and dirty blonde mop of boyish hair.

"You." He mouthed. "It's you!"

That little protestant wench who had smuggled her way into the good graces of the crown and joined the ranks of the Royal Guards. He'd seen her, often enough as she ran around on her errands, blindly investigating hither and thither, her and her musketeers.

After a while, he'd judged her no threat, a woman after all, chosen more to sit pleasingly beside the Princess as a token than for mind and sense.

What was her name now . . . for the life of her he could not recall . . . ah yes!

"Lieutenant . . . Lieutenant Agnes?" A commoner officer!

In the dark, the woman's lips twitched icily. "Captain, actually. A promotion was in order for my work on behalf of the Crown. And also, Chevalier de Milan as a matter of course."

"A Ch-chevalier?" Terrance choked out the word. That was to say . . . the crown had made a protestant, a commoner, a woman, a . . . a _breeding sow,_ into a Knight?! It was too much, too much not to laugh, despite the pain the indiscretion might cause him.

Lieutenant . . . Captiain Agnes, Chevalie de Milan, held her smile. "I hope you find it amusing."

"Oh ho ho." de Martou rasped out, paunch, somewhat reduced by his confinement, jiggling merrily. "I must be losing my mind. A witch like you, a Knight?!" Given land and title and . . . and nobility.

NO! No matter what this woman was called, a commoner could no more become an aristocrat than a pig could be dressed in human clothing and called a man. At the command of the Queen it might be entertained, but always it would be known a farce.

Then why did it hurt so much, that his ill fortunes were her gains?

"Our Princess has many strange and wonderful ideas, wouldn't you agree?" Agnes mused as she turned away from him. "Of course, I don't agree with all of the one's she's become taken with, but what is the duty of a loyal servant but to voice her concerns to her highness and then trust in God?"

"Speaking of God as a protestant?" Terrance muttered darkly. "You have some nerve, don't you woman?"

"And you lack the sense to keep your mouth shut." She replied. "But I'm not here at this late date to give you a lecturing in loyalty to one's sovereign. In fact, just the opposite, there is a matter that has been overlooked in the madness of the past weeks. I do believe you might be of help bringing about its conclusion.

"A matter?" Terrance pondered, licking lips slowly. "And what matter, at this, as you put it 'late date', could possibly require my services?" They'd already taken from him every scrap and tidbit and small detail that had ever rattled through his brain. He was of no use now. There was nothing he knew that they did not already have at their disposal.

Or so he thought.

"Listen closely now." The Protestant said as she turned her head, casually examining one of the iron hooks, hung from the wall. "You may have been so foolish as never to have realized your roll in the whole of things, but that is not an excuse that will save you from the noose."

"If it were up to me, you'd be hung by the neck until dead already. But it is not up to me. Now then, there is a sensitive political matter, it is not so pressing a thing really, but it has been decided that if you cooperate fully, your sentence will be commuted."

That got his attention. Terrance licked dry lips. "A pardon?"

Now it was Agnes' turn to laugh. "You'd like that very much I'm sure. But no. Ten years hard labor, and life in prison on charges of smuggling. It will be an ignominious end to you, but if you survive the first decade, as a nobleman, you might live out the reast in some semblance of modest comfort."

Not death . . . prison for life . . .

'What could I possible have?' What could they possible want?! Was this a last joke on the part of the Crown?

His silence was interpreted as disinterest by the cold blooded she-wolf they'd sent to mock him. "If you do not wish to save yourself, then I shall take my leave now and . . ."

"No!" He sensed opportunity slipping through his fingers. "No . . . I . . . I am . . . that is to say . . . How could I be of, ah, of service? What do you need to know?"

And like that he realized, without even the threat of violence, she had him.

Head tilted, the newly minted Chevalier wrinkled her nose as she looked him over. "Not what you know,who you know. Your contacts in Tristain are being rounded up. But those in Gallia and Germania are beyond our reach and have gone to ground. You'll know how to contact them, I'm sure, your buyers."

"Buyers? Yes . . . buyers." de'Martou whispered a small prayer under his breath. "Which buyers might you be interested in?"

And then a shiver at the small, quiet voice that whispered into his ear, a weight like a hummingbird lighting onto his shoulder. He turned his head to look, he could not help but look!

And found . . . found . . . Founder . . .

"A Pixie?"

The doll like creature, resting lightly on his shoulder, glaring hatefully at him. So much like the other little dolls he'd trafficked just weeks ago. Delightful little creatures, sure to garner interest from the right clients.

But this one was so different from those ethereal little girls. Bigger for one, he was sure, figure both leaner and fuller, like that of a young woman rather than a child, and brandishing in her hand a needle like a miniscule saber, testing its point with one, nearly invisibly small fingertip.

"A knight." The girl said quietly. "Good day, Mister de'Martou. You can't imagine how much I've been wanting to talk to you." de'Martou watched as the girl took her needle, and touched it to the skin just beneath his left eye, allowing him to feel its sharpness for himself. "I would like to know what you've done with my sisters."

* * *

><p>"Industrialization, standardization, and mobilization, these are the essential tenants that Tristain must adopt if she is to overcome her deficiency in war fighting ability against the Kingdom of Albion. You've already seen the first step being deployed, the design and construction of the new factory machines and furnaces."<p>

Fujioka Katsuo, Mortimer, Lord Mortimer, First Lord of Gaddan, and by dint of skill and more than a little luck, War Leader of the Faerie Races in the dangerously real world of Halkegenia, looked up from the document he was perusing to gauge the faces of his fellows.

On his left, General Belgen de Gramont, Supreme Commander of the ground forces of the Kingdom of Tristain. A tall, lank, and unusually foppish man who much resembled his youngest son. Appearances hid a keen and observant military mind, and a wealth of practical knowledge, that Mortimer had grown to greatly respect during their time together. Along with a certain way of viewing things, that was not always as expected.

To his right, was Count Eren La Ramee, Equally Supreme Commander of Tristain's Navy and equally acknowledged as an experienced, albeit often uninspired man, lacking the unconventional streak of the General sitting opposite. Impressively mustachioed, and dressed in the uniform of a Flag Officer.

Finally, there was Mortimer himself, or rather, Fujioka Katsuo. Thirty years old, if he counted the time they had been here in Halkegenia, albeit in a body that would get him mistaken for a much younger man. Shoulder length red hair, blood-red eyes, and severe features that he had been told did not suit his real world self at all.

Mortimer, who had, almost overnight, found himself dubbed a 'Tactical Genius' by his allies and his enemies alike. A title that surprised no one more than Mortimer himself. He had simply done what came naturally, detached himself, drawn on his historical knowledge, calculated, and executed, as he always had when faced with something unpleasant.

His title was also one that came with a good deal of benefit and danger. The prestige and clout, naturally, but also, the resentment and hostility. A hand probed at his tender flank.

He could not forget that Albion thought highly of him at least, highly enough to go to lengths to have him assassinated and his body delivered to Reconquista, likely for zombification. He didn't know whether to be honored or horrified.

The danger to his life also explained the last person in the room, hovering over him like his own shadow. Slight, silver haired, with skin as pallid and eyes as blood red as his own. Lydia, Commander of the Salamander Knights, his personal guard contingent, and one of the most superb swordswomen among the races of ALfheim.

For all of that, today's venue was not a particularly auspicious one. Set in a meeting room on the second floor of the Champ de Mars HQ building, windows overlooking ranks of wooden barracks and the fields where musketeer formations were hard at work being drilled.

The barks of sergeants carried as far as the window, wafting on the last of the spring breeze.

Looking up from their own documents, translations drawn up by one of Mortimer's staff, his own command of the Tristanian written language was still quite rubbish, and he didn't care to make either man suffer through his handwriting or poorly written translation. It appeared that the Fae's gift of tongues did not extend as far as the written word.

Mortimer gauged the two men carefully, awaiting their reply. It was La Ramee who answered first, tossing his stack of papers back onto the dark, polished conference table. "You say that, Lord Mortimer, but this seems, how should I put it . . . overly ambitious?"

Mortimer placed his elbows on the table. "You mean to say frivolous, I'm sure." He was under no illusion about what he was requesting.

"We're going to war with Albion, a Kingdom of unassailable positional advantage, and you occupy yourself with uniforms?" La Ramee shook his head.

"I do like these sketches though." Belgen supplied with a whimsical smile. "I don't suppose these are your doing?" He looked to Mortimer, lifting an illustration of the proposed foot soldier's uniform, standard cut, a very martial and functional looking affair shown front and back. Its creator had even taken to paints to color the illustration in olive drab.

Mortimer sighed heavily. "No, those would be the product of Lydia's imagination."

"My Lord!" His guard Captain looked betrayed.

"Eh? I'd rate the work as not half bad." Belgen mused with a small wink to Lydia's open displeasure.

"I . . . I was aiming for utility." Lydia grumbled.

"Your sense of fashion aside, General Gramont." Mortimer said coolly. "There is a good a time as any to propose a standard uniform. To my knowledge, the raising of the current Royal Army will be unprecedented in the history of Tristain." His comment garnered the full attention of both men. "If I am not mistaken, this will be the first time a standing army has been raised singularly beneath the Crown."

"That's right enough Lad." General Gramont admitted. "I think we were both in the room when that was declared."

"Though I don't think our Fair Princess thought it through. The Old Families are howling for blood over it." La Ramee muttered.

In previous times, when a call to arms had been made by the Crown, each Noble family had been instructed to raise levies, volunteer for service, or hire Free Companies that would then be placed at their pleasure into the service of the Crown.

As the Nobility owed fealty to the Royal Family, the forces of the Nobility were to be considered a national army in times of war. This was in many ways an extension of the previous feudal system where Nobility was conferred as an extension of governance and military service.

Were that it were so simple. There were many complications to this method of raising an army, not the least of which was the proliferation of Mercenaries.

Put simply, the art of war was one that demanded constant honing. And the men, commoner and mage alike, who made a career of such things, were easily worth the money of their hiring.

However, most Kingdom's were not so wealthy as to keep such men in times of peace, instead favoring the smaller garrison armies such as those that manned Tristain's border Fortresses and roadway houses.

The solution was freelancers, sell swords, mercenaries who had an unfortunate tendency of not leaving once the fighting was ended and their services no longer required. They were frequently more trouble than they were worth, eating up vast swaths of resources to remain on the march, and leaving nothing but ruin in their path.

In Earth's own history, there had been times in the early modern period where the mercenary armies had roamed parts of Europe almost unchecked

Even when the Free Companies worked as intended, they brought other complications. An eclectic mix of equipment for one, and an equally mixed level of quality, ranging from elite units under experienced commanders, to barely organized mobs.

As national identities developed, surpluses grew, and governments centralized, the tendency became to replace the mercenary companies with standing national armies manned by professional officers and conscript soldiers.

The armies were paid by the Crown directly, rather than through funds raised by a Noble Lord, and were thus considered more politically reliable than the mercenaries they replaced. The men were raised up from within the country and so were likelier to be loyal to their nation, and most, with the exception of officers, were not career soldiers and would return to a productive civilian life when their service was concluded.

In addition, the armies were supplied by the government, allowing standardization of equipment, and thus training, drill, and logistics, all essential to create the sort of disciplined and orderly force that would be needed to recapture Albion without burning what was left to the ground.

Halkegenia found itself sitting on the cusp of such a changeover, from the Free Companies to professional, national armies. This had been true even before the Fae had arrived. Mortimer intended for Tristain to ride ahead of the curve.

"This is just the first step in standardization." Mortimer explained. "A single uniform, modified where necessary, to be worn by all regiments. Ideally, we'll be able to issue every foot soldier with basic equipment of the same pattern as well."

"Yes." Admiral La Ramee returned to reading his notes. "One standard uniform coat, two standard uniforms, one pair of boots, one tarpaulin and . . . three full sets of undergarments?"

"As I said," Mortimer sighed, "It might appear frivolous. But a standard uniform that must be kept in form helps to maintain formation discipline. Having a replacement on hand removes any excuse for slovenly appearance and means that pests like lice can be regularly purged in the laundry. A good canvas tarp or blanket can be the difference between staying dry and warm or succumbing to sickness in the rain, and of course, I'm sure General Gramont can speak to the importance of proper, clean, foot wraps on a long march."

Belgen winced visible as he rubbed at his good leg. "Well, I can certainly vouch for that." The old General admitted. "And proper uniforms can make or break military discipline . . . We'll have to cloth and equip them anyway, so I suppose it's worth the effort on that merit. Though on the matter of equipment, I'm more concerned with armament, and by extension, strategy." Belgen tapped a finger against the surface of the table. "I confess, I'm still leery of these formations."

"If I may ask, whatever for?" Mortimer gathered his hands on the table. "You've seen the rate of fire and range of the rifles using the new ammunition. I thought that we'd settled this?" He pondered if he had missed something.

Contrary to popular perception, Mortimer _knew_ that he was not an experienced field commander, he had met with some success so far, but there was nothing he valued more than the input of senior officers like General Gramont and Admiral La Ramee. Conventional wisdom was most often an invaluable resource, so long as the reasons for those conventions were kept in mind.

The problem was, by conventional wisdom, Prince Wales should have been dead, and Tristain should have been under attack by now as Albion launched its invasion, most likely taking advantage of the sparse settlements and clearings to the north of the Capital to make their initial landfall before advancing for a decapitation strike.

"Aye, and it was an impressive display." Belgen nodded earnestly. "What I wouldn't have given for a company of them during the last Gallian border skirmish. Which is also the problem . . ."

Mortimer closed his eyes and breathed out. "We're asking for rather more than a company."

Another bob of the old General's head. Reaching up to play out a lock of gray-blonde hair. "It's one thing to keep some of these riflemen on hand. But nearly twenty thousand is more than a few rifleers."

In fact, it was approximately half of the total commoner force that was expected to be assembled. Combined with artillery crews for the new cannons, pikemen, scout and mage cavalry, the mage foot squads, Fae volunteers, and the mercenary auxiliaries, they accounted for nearly two fifths of the proposed National Army's combat strength, an increase of four fold in number when compared with the traditional mage, shot, and pike formations of the continent.

The emphasis on the commoner formations was indeed unusual, as was their employment as a primary arm of combined arms strategy rather than as a harassment force or living bulwarks to protect the Mage formations who were viewed as the true striking power of the army. Commoners, no matter training or armament, were not considered much compared to the mages that they served under, only of value en mass and when supported by magic users.

"And of course, there will be convincing the rest of the General Staff." La Ramee chimed in.

Mortimer grimaced, another matter entirely. Men like de Pointier, General Gramont's appointed second in command. Brave, loyal, and utterly set in their ways. It had been one thing to get them behind a mad plan for survival. Now however, they felt quite comfortable settling back into their old ways. They'd fight change every chance they got, especially anything that reduced the glory of armed service going to the aristocracy.

He had some ideas about that and was about to comment when there came a knock at the door.

"Did someone remember to order lunch?" General Gramont looked between his two fellows and Lydia.

The Salamander swordswoman frowned, hand lightly touching upon her sword as she went to answer the door. Peeking out, she spoke to someone standing in the hall.

"Pardon?"

All three men grew alert at once. 'Pardon.' One of those words that one never wanted to hear. It could be code for anything really.

Lydia turned around, expression . . . bemused. She was briefly lost in thought before at last coming to a decision. "My Lord, it appears that you have a . . . I suppose you could say we have guests awaiting downstairs . . ."

"Guests?" General Gramont frowned. "Was anything more said than guests?"

'Guests.' A word almost as loaded as 'Pardon'.

"I think that it would be best," Lydia said very diplomatically, "That you see for yourselves. They're waiting now in the foyer."

Not like Lydia to be so vague, Mortimer stroked his chin. Which meant it was probably something quite atypical.

Whether Belgen noticed or cared, curiosity had already gotten the better of him. "Well then, Gents?"

A break couldn't possible hurt. Mortimer supposed as he followed after the General. He only grew more curious as they passed staff and officers muttering uncomfortably, and at last came to a cordon of guards looking, not ill at ease, but almost put at a loss by something. In any case, they were happy to allow the trio of military strategists and Lydia to pass.

"Just . . . keep an open mind, my Lord." Lydia whispered in his ear as they made for the stairs. And what could that possibly mean? Perhaps Sakuya was right, perhaps he was just that terrible at reading peo . . .

This wasn't right. He thought as they reached the second floor landing overlooking the foyer. For one, the Champ de Mars HQ was quite the martial institution, its halls solemn and well-kept, and most oft empty save at times of peak activity. And certainly, it was against military conduct to admit one's animal familiar.

And yet, at that very moment, the fluttering of wings was the loudest noise in the hall, as feathered and chitinous shapes lined the balconies and tops of cabinets. Shapes that elicited a distinct feeling of familiarity.

'_Dracos Teranus Minor_, and _Vespia Vespia Majorus_.' Mortimar paused the names came unbidden to his mind, tidbits absorbed in reports some time and some place else. In other words, Feathered Dragons, and Willow Wasps, among other, small, flying mobs.

Not familiars at all . . . Only then did his eyes pick out the small shapes, sitting atop the mobs, or moving between them, like large insects, or hummingbirds, until one took flight, silhouetted like a Faerie in miniature.

"What the blazes." General Gramont growled. "Listen here! What is the meaning of this!"

The chattering, chirps, and what Mortimer only recognized now as tiny, whispered voices, fell silent as one. Replaced by a single surprisingly loud and clear voice.

"Pardon us!"

Mortimer looked about at the sound of the voice as much as either Tristanian. Lydia, however, seemed to already have figured it out, pointing with a wane smile.

"Down here!"

The voice, coming from a table at the middle of the Foyer, from a miniscule figure much too small to reasonably contain it, looking right at them. All things considered, the Tristanians took the sight remarkably well.

"Eren." Belgen muttered, rubbing slowly at his eyes. "Tell me. Do you see this?"

"I do believe so." La Ramee admitted.

"Oh, good. I thought I was finally going mad."

"They asked to speak with you, apparently." Lydia informed Mortimer as if it was the most natural thing in the world. "They were quite insistent with the Guards, and well . . . Can you imagine someone trying to stop them?"

Mortimer felt the hundreds of big, curious eyes looking out from young, girlish faces. Despite the crude armor adorning their small bodies, and the miniscule spears and swords that they prominently brandished, it was hard to see them in an ill light.

Like an army of mouse children. So long as they were doing no harm, he supposed anyone with a heart would be reluctant to dislodge them.

"May I?" Mortimer gestured to Admiral La Ramee and General Gramont, the elder men swiftly granting him their blessing to step forward as spokesman. "I am Lord Mortimer, First Lord of Gaddan, I was told I was asked for by name."

The chattering rose again, and then fell silent as the girl on the table raised her hand. Interesting, then the others deferred to her?

Mortimer squinted. Without her helm, she was golden haired, with bright blue eyes and serious set to her face, as if her default expression was an irritated frown. Beneath black chitin armor she wore a small patchwork dress of yellow and red. She stood calmly, arms crossed, waiting.

When she heard Mortimer identify himself, she nodded. "Good day, Lord Mortimer, it is my honor to meet with the Lord of the Fire Fae."

"And a good morning to you, Miss . . ."

"Kigiku." The girl supplied, spreading amber wings to hover at eye height. "Kigiku, Eldest Knight of Tarbes Garden. You are the supreme Leader of the Fae Forces protecting ALfheim and Tristain, correct?"

Mortimer's brow rose, looking back over his shoulder, he was met by curious nods. Of course, it was the truth, the Fae Auxiliaries fell under his singular command for the time being. "That is correct." Mortimer kept his expression composed.

The girl nodded thoughtfully. "Lord Mortimer of the Salamanders, we have come with the blessing of our Eldest Sister Hinagiku, Shaman of Tarbes Garden, and Elder Sister Botan, Knight of Tarbes Garden. Before you are the Eldest Knights of the Twenty Gardens of ALfheim."

"And to what purpose, might I ask?" Mortimer paused to sweep the room, at a guess, around four hundred he would suppose. Not all were mounted, most had come only by themselves, or else left their mounts outside. Watching from high vantages or clinging easily to the walls. Like an army of teenaged, armored, hornet girls in miniature.

"We . . ." The pixie girl balled her fists. "We wish to pledge ourselves, to fight for our homes!"

Mortimer rocked back. Well then, this was . . . unexpected.

"We decided after Botan-chan returned to us with some of our lost sisters and told us of what she had learned and seen. And Hinagiku-sama has spoken with Lady Sakuya and Princess Henrietta on this matter on many occasions. We are to be treated as Fae of ALfheim, and the sanctity of our Gardens and shoots honored. Thanks to that, we can live safely. But we will not take this privilege and give nothing for it!"

It was hard to believe so much force could exist inside of a body so small.

"The world is dangerous for our kind and our lives are very difficult. All that we have are our sisters and our Gardens. And to know that there are people who wish to destroy our homes, even Mother Yggdrasil if given the chance . . ." A furious shake of the head. "The small lives have not forgotten the purpose of our existence!"

Without so much as a word from Lord Mortimer, the Pixie settled back to the surface of the table, and with a small, whispered prayer, folded herself into a bow. "Please, Mortimer-sama. Though the Fae have long split from us, we are still sisters . . . help us to protect our homes."

The room fell hushed. There was nothing more to be said. Or so it seemed.

"It is a generous offer." Mortimer began slowly. How to say this . . . he did not think of himself as a callous man. "It would have to be agreed upon by the other Lords . . ."

"Lady Sakuya has already given us her blessing." Kigiku said.

"Sakuya?" Mortimer grimaced. Now that was hard to believe.

"You may see us as children." The night fluttered her wings in agitation. "That isn't fair, Mortimer-sama, we are grown Knights, we understand what it is to fight and die for the sake of others. Sakuya-sama understands this, though it took time for Hinagiku-sama to convince her. We do not ask your permission Lord Mortimer, only your help."

In other words, they would do this anyway, and there was nothing that any human or Fae could do to stop them. All the stubbornness of a teenager crammed into that miniscule body. But . . . He'd read the reports about the Pixie garden at Tarbes, and of the Knight who had been so essential in spying on the conspirators. What if . . .

The stalemate at last drove Admiral La Ramee to action. "As Lord Mortimer has said, Miss Kigiku, your offer is very generous. But what service can you and your kin serve in battle . . ."

"No. We can use this." Mortimer interrupted.

"Lord Mortimer!" La Ramee began to protest.

Turning back to the waiting Pixie. "Miss Kigiku, you speak for all of your sisters here?"

"As Eldest Knight." She swore.

"If we accept your offer, can I be assured of your obedience? You will have to obey orders to the letter and accept the responsibility of soldiers." But if this worked . . .

The small knight answered wordlessly, placing a fist to her chest, and giving a small bow, wings fluttering in sympathy. "For our Mother, to our dying breath, Mortimer-sama."

Mortimer nodded slowly, sharing a look briefly with Lydia. His chief guard looked far from certain, but also, far from stopping him.

"I make no promises, but I would like to tentatively accept your offer." Lord Mortimer said with growing confidence. He could see the possibilities unfolding before his eyes. He turned to general Gramont and Admiral La Ramee.

"Gentleman, are you pondering what I'm pondering?"

"Quite lad!" General Gramont declared before assuming a serious posture. "But, all this talk about uniforms we were just having. I have to ask. Where are we supposed to get over a thousand tiny pairs of panties.?" Said in all seriousness and without a hint of humor.

The four hundred odd collected Pixies stared on in complete silence.

Mortimer reached up to rub his temples slowly, he was just about to say something when Eren silenced him. "No no, Lord Mortimer." La Ramee turned to the still quite contemplative General Gramont. "Let him have this. It is just how his mind works."


	4. Chapter 1 Part 1 Black Crow, White Swan

_Halkegenia Online v3 - Chapter 1 - Part 1 _

_The Coronation of Queen Henrietta I of Tristania would go down in the history of her Kingdom, one of the many peculiarities of her reign and typical of her personality and leadership. _

_The Crown had not been vocal about the event, hunting down the last of the conspirators and dragging them back to Tristania to stand trial had demanded the full attention of the Monarch to be. _

_There hadn't been much fanfare beforehand either, that had all been wasted on the disastrous Gala a few weeks before. _

_No high foreign officials had been invited save members of the Royalist Government in exile. Relations with Germania were still rocky following the termination of the prior marriage alliance, and Gallia had remained silent on the affair, Pope Vittorio III of Romalia had, however, sent his full well wishes and prayors and a lavish gift of treasure as a show of good will, a token that had not gone without comment._

_The ceremony itself hadn't been anything ostentatious or showy. Nobody had wanted it that way, least of all the new Queen. Instead, it had instead been a simple affair by the standards of coronations, starting the young Queen's reign as she wished to rule, in simple and open devotion to her people. _

_A festival day had been called, and starting early in the morning the air over the Capital's markets had been filled with the smoke of roasting pits and bonfires, the start of a day of festivities for the commoners and petty nobility. _

_Church bells had been rung from every steeple and the Abby tower starting from dawn, and a squadron of Naval Cruisers had positioned themselves above the city to shower flower petals down on the Grand Promenade. _

_The Queen to be had ridden out from the Palace at the heart of a parade of her Royal Guards to the Chapel of Saint Reuben, to present herself before the assembled Nobility of the House of Peers, the Reigning Sovereign, her mother Queen Marianne, the High Cardinal of Tristain, Bishop Rubeis, and Lord of the Legal Collegiate._

_The last should have been Lord Justice Richmond, but the Lord Justice had been nowhere to be found in the past weeks, and as time had gone on and more evidence had been uncovered, Richmond had been found guilty of Treason and stripped of his title and authority for ties to the Reconquista movement. Though he had not been found, it had been assumed he had fled to Albion. _

_This had put the Legal Collegiate in a difficult position, but they were lawyers, and no strangers to turnover in the position of Lord Justice._

_The former Lord Justice had been replaced by a newly elected official, previously Sir Visbee of the Tristain Academia, now Lord Justice Visbee of the Legal Collegiate, a small and scholarly man, competent and well liked, who most importantly, in no way resembled the man he was replacing. An important thing in the politics of the day. _

_Princess Henrietta had arrived, garbed in a simple white gown and veil to represent purity, chastity, and first loyalty to her Kingdom. She had been escorted between the pews holding the congregated nobility by her Regent, Cardinal Mazarin dressed in full Religious Vestment as a representative of the Church of the Founder in Tristain. _

_Afterwards, many in the crowd had made comment about the closeness of the Queen and her regent, noting the fatherly care and the hesitation with which the Old Cardinal had stepped aside to allow the Princess to ascend the steps alone._

_Upon reaching the summit of the steps and the podium, Henrietta had been met by Bishop Rubeis, the elderly man pulling back her veil and marking out the cross of the founder upon her forehead in red wine to represent recognition of her descent from the blood of the Founder. _

_Lord Justice Visbee had come forward next to present the scepter to represent the new Queen's rule over all secular matters of her Kingdom. _

_And last, Queen Marianne had presented the Royal Crown to her daughter. By placing it on her daughter's head, Henrietta was recognized by the reigning sovereign as successor and rightful ruler._

_Three simple acts that encompassed the heart of the coronation._

_Henrietta had turned back to the congregation, comprised of Nobles from the highest Archduke down to members of the Knightly Orders, giving equal representation to opponents and allies alike. It had all been very official, very clean and well executed and formal._

_All save for one detail, the Fae. _

_There had been Faeries present in the parade. Gnomes and Leprechauns traveling on foot and horses. Salamanders, Sylphs and Cait Syth Dragoons overflying the Princess and her cohort alongside the Dragon Knights. Contingents of Undines, Imps, and the now famous Spriggan Free Company, the Kurotaka, had stood in parade formation at the doors of the Cathedral while a Puca band, expertly rehearsed, had played the Kingdom's national anthem from atop the Church Towers. _

_And not to be forgotten among the heads of the nobility, the two front benches, each seating twenty, nine of those forty places were taken by the gathered Faerie Lords in all of their finery. It was a display that was as impossible to miss as its message was clear to the anxious nobility. The Faeries were the Loyal Subjects of the Crown, Loyal Subjects would be rewarded. _

_It was as clear as the empty seats that peppered the benches. No one had bothered to further comment. It had been thought to do so would only bring suspicion and anger, if not from the Crown, than from those who were eager to affirm their own Loyalty._

_A short speech had been given, the ceremony had been concluded, and applause had wrung out, the Nobility making the appropriate noises and gestures before kneeling as one before their new Queen. _

_It had been said later that Queen Henrietta had looked distinctly unhappy while surveying the crowds, but that too had gone without comment. _

_What had been greatly commented on by all parties in the coming days, was the ceremony that had proceeded the next day as their Queen's first act as Sovereign on the parade Fields of the Champ de'Mars . . . _

* * *

><p>Life, it occurred to Tsuboi Ryotaro, the swordsman Klein, was a hell of a thing.<p>

"Please kneel." The dainty young woman standing above him on the steps of the Champ de Mars chapel instructed politely. Coming from her, it hardly seemed like an order at all.

After all, where else could he end up doing something as crazy as this?

But then again, Klein thought, he'd probably never be able to stop thinking of her as 'The Princess' who had wished them well on their journey all of those months ago. Naive, and sweet, and hopeful. The same Princess that had wished him luck when he'd headed off for Albion with his squad to join up with Kirito and Asuna. And also the Princess who had given her personal, heartfelt thanks while he was laid up in the infirmary recovering from the electric shishkebab delivered by the Viscount of Wardes.

Of course, today she was a bit more than a Princess, and she was doing a little bit more than just thanking him.

Klein offered his Katana hilt first to the Queen as he took to one knee and bowed his head. The soft sliding noise as the blade was pulled free and a pause as the young sovereign hefted the unfamiliar weapon.

Klein had the distinct impression that the silence was going on for longer than it should, and though he _really_ shouldn't have, the Salamander peaked up from the corner of one eye.

The Knights to either side of the Princess frowned. Maybe because Klein wasn't following the script, or maybe because Queen Henrietta had loosened the ceremony requirements.

Klein didn't know if he'd have gone through with this if he'd had to fast for a week or pray all night. It was tough enough just wearing the Dress Uniform of a Tristanian Chevalier, white trousers and jacket, with royal blue blouse, cavalry boots, and a cape that he was sure looked thoroughly ridiculous.

At least they weren't expected to dress like this on the battlefield.

Honestly, there were people who deserved this a lot more than him, but Mortimer hadn't been about to take no for an answer when he'd been recommended.

At last, the Young Queen, resplendent in blue and white gown, smiled apologetically. "So this is the sword with which you will protect the Kingdom?"

Klein opened his mouth, closed it, and then thought hard how to say it. "I'm sure gonna try." Remembering a moment later to add, "I mean . . . Yes, Your Majesty."

"Then bow your head." Henrietta instructed.

Klein did as he was told.

"And repeat after me."

Klein took a breath and followed along with each of the verses. It wasn't a lot to remember, just a few short lines. Luckily the buildup was a lot longer than the actual ceremony.

"I _Tsuboi Ryotaro Klein . . ." _

Klein didn't know who'd started that trend, but a full name was something that looked impressive and official to the locals, and the longer the better, so he'd decided to just roll with it.

" . . . _Do pledge my sword, my service, and my body to the Kingdom of Tristain and her rightful Sovereign." _

A ridiculous thought wormed into the back of his head. Would this nullify his Japanese citizenship? He didn't think so . . . Little late to check now.

"_I swear to myself to defend the Kingdom against its enemies in War and to remain vigilant in Peace."_

"_To uphold the Cardinal Virtues." _

_"To shelter and aid the weak and give alms to the poor." _

"_To obey my superiors and protect my subordinates." _

"_To uphold virtue and honor in battle and in peace."_

"_To if need be, fight ably and die valiantly." _

Klein _really_ hoped the last part wouldn't be necessary. Really, _really_ hoped it wouldn't be necessary. That would be really _great_.

But would he do it? He wondered privately, to himself.

Kind of a dumb question he decided. He'd set down this path all the way back in that other world, in the Town of Beginnings, first to protect his friends and get them out alive, and then again for all of the players, and now, all of the Fae. That hadn't changed, this just made it official.

He felt the flat of his blade resting on one shoulder and then the next as Henrietta finished.

"Then on this day, on the Third of Dri in the Year of Our Lord six thousand three hundred and forty one, I Henrietta I of Tristain hereby dub thee Sir Klein Ryotaro Tsuboi, Chevalier of Tristain, Knight of the Order Yggdrasil, sworn in service to the Kingdom of Tristain and the Faerie Court of ALfheim. Rise, Sir Klein."

Standing so that he was eye to eye with the Queen, it was damn hard not to grin as she returned his sword carefully, hilt first and Klein replaced it in the scabbard at his side.

Placing his fist to his chest, Klein bowed courteously as Captain Agnes had instructed him the night before during the rehearsal and turned to take his place with the rest of the newly Knighted who formed a rectangular formation of their own at the center of the parade grounds, surrounded on three sides by units of the Manticore, Griffin, and Dragon Knights.

It was only after he got back to his place that Klein realized what he'd just done and how significant it was. Probably the most significant commitment he'd made in his entire life. And weirdly, he didn't feel any different at all.

"Looking real chivalrous Klein." A sidewise whisper reached his ear from the woman beside him. "Guess a Knight is pretty much like a Samurai, right?"

The Salamander Knight glanced over to Caramella, Dame Caramella, or rather, Dame Caramella Naomi Anisette Foster of the Order of Yggdrasil Knights. They'd been ribbing partners from time to time in Aincrad, whenever the Army and Furinkanzen guilds had been blowing off steam at the same inn. Klein guessed now this made them comrades of a different sort.

Not that he minded too much. She was fun to be around most of the time, she was fun to argue with at least, definitely a good drinking partner. And she knew how to use a sword. Not to mention, he thought shamelessly, she looked pretty cute in uniform. It was sort of a shame they were batting for the same team.

"Yeah?" Klein whispered back. "Personally I think they must have made a mistake."

There were a few annoyed glances traded from either side, but their voices weren't going to carry far, even in the still and muggy air.

"How'd you figure?" Caramella asked.

"They let you in after all." Klein pointed out, receiving some very unladylike words in response.

Captain Gaius was up now, the Cait Syth Dragoon offering his spell-sword and kneeling before the Queen.

Klein supposed, that Caramella being close friends with a Crown Prince, and keeping the poor guy alive on more than one occasion, was just about right to receive recognition.

"Both of you, _quiet_." The silver haired Salamander woman standing in front of Klein instructed sharply. That dangerous tone was enough to shut them both up, leaving Klein alone with his own thoughts about how they'd ended up here.

Not here as in Tristain, as Faeries, even if they figured that one out, Klein was pretty sure he'd need a dozen degrees he'd never even heard of to understand the explanation.

Here, on the Parade Field of the Champ de'Mars training center, being Knighted by the Queen of a Country none of them had ever heard of three months ago. He could at least understand the answer to that one.

Tristain was going to War, and the Faeries were going with them. The important part about that was that the people in charge mattered, especially during a war. And in Tristain, those people were the Nobility.

Putting aside all of the Jokes, the title of Faerie Lord meant a lot now. There had been a lot of collective sighs of relief over the past couple of weeks as the first cycle of elections had ended with the Sylph, Salamander, and Cait Syth Lords winning reelection. That was because the Nine Lords were backed by Noble Titles.

In other words, it meant that there were Nine Nobles in the House of Peers who were Faeries. Or, that there were _only_ Nine Nobles in the House of Peers who were Faeries.

Those Noble titles let them throw their weight around with all of the Counts and Dukes, but they couldn't be everyplace at once. At the same time, the Defense Force volunteers needed to be able to stand equal with the Army and Navy Officers who were usually ranking Noblemen.

While every Faeries was recognized as a mage, and therefore a Noble, there were a lot of levels to Nobility.

And Queen Henrietta had just decided to promote a few of them up a few rungs on the ladder. Forty two of them to be exact. That was how many slots had been opened up in the newly formed order of Faerie Knights.

Klein tried not to think about it too hard. The politics tended to make his head spin. He wasn't dumb, he knew that partly the Queen was rewarding them for their service, and that partly she was sending a message to the rest of the Nobility.

Most had gone to defense Force Officers like Gaius, General Eugene, and Sergeant Carmond, and the Captains of Each of the City Watch units like Lydia. The few that had remained had been handed out for distinguished service, which had been how he and Caramella had been selected. Him, Caramella, and . . .

"Step forward," Queen Henrietta's voice rang out loud and clear across the field, "Kirigaya Kazuto Kirito, Kirigaya Yuuki Asuna . . ."

He wasn't supposed to turn his head, but Klein did anyways, catching just a glimpse as they approached together, short black hair and long chestnut.. He only realized he was holding his breath when he heard Caramella snicker.

"He looks awful in white."

Klein coughed to save himself from laughing out loud. That was the truth. Approaching side by side with Asuna, the pure colors that complimented the young Maeve woman so well were the same ones that made the ash skinned Spriggan look like a walking corpse, all the while, trying to sink further into his uniform and out of sight.

So there really was a reason Kirito preferred black. Maybe this was what Argo had meant about Kirito's super secret KOB equipment.

Meanwhile, Asuna was . . . Well . . .

It was easy for him to tell, the way she walked, the set of her shoulders and gaze. That was the Asuna who'd led the KoB, the entire Front Line, to victory after victory in their battle to free themselves from Aincrad. Right now, Asuna was once again the vice commander that had commanded the attention of everyone at raid meetings, radiating strength and poise like she'd been born a noble herself.

Though her uniform jacket had been modified to accommodate her wings, at the moment, she held them dispelled as she knelt alongside Kirito.

One thought came immediately to Klein's mind. "Is she going to be okay?" Klein asked to the air.

He was as thankful as anyone to have Asuna back, but at the same time, Kirito had been pretty worried about her. Asuna had fought harder than anyone to get them out, and now both of them were diving back in to a war that was going to be even harsher than SAO had ever been. How messed up was that?

"I don't think she can be okay without doing this." Caramella answered back, voice suddenly soft and sympathetic, not really like her at all. When Klein checked to be sure it was really her talking, there was worry shadowing her eyes. "We should know better than anyone." Klein's eyes widened. "Because . . ."

Princess Henrietta nearly dropped Kirito's Onyx Arbiter as the weight took her by surprise, but before her flanking Knights could take more than a step forward, she recovered and the ceremony continued, first reciting the Oath with Kirito and then turning to Asuna, drawing a slender rapier that caught the light of the sun.

Klein nodded, exhaling slowly. "Because we'd rather die next to someone, than let them die alone."

Asuna's voice carried all the way to the where they stood as she finished the oath and accepted back her sword. Only as the two turned, Sir Kirito Kazuto Kirigaya and Dame Asuna Yuuki Kirigaya, did Caramella add quietly.

"No more screwing around." The former Army player growled. "We're going keep everyone safe."

"Right." Klein said without looking away from either Kirito or Asuna.

They'd all come back alive. They'd make it their oath.


	5. Chapter 1 Part 2: Morning Morgiana

  
>Halkegenia Online – v3.0 – Chapter 1 – Part 2<p>In the City of Arrun, on a side street that split from the busy thoroughfare leading up to the city Tower, there sat a modest townhouse with a tiled roof, fronted by a porch and small garden that looked out onto the pedestrian way.<p>

A strong box, recently mounted to the iron fence had been inscribed with a house number and a family name that was growing to have quite a bit of meaning in the casual gossip and news of the Faeries of ALfheim.

-Kirigaya-  
>As in the family name of the so called Black Swordsman, the Beater of Aincrad, and one of the Faeries who had defeated the Viscount of Wardes during the Newcastle Evacuation. Also the Surname of an up and coming Watch Lieutenant who had participated in the successful capture of conspirators on nine different occasions. And, as in the assumed surname of Asuna the White Flash, former leader of the Knights of Blood, the woman of the unique Maeve race who had saved Prince Wales Tudor more than once and who had also helped to slay the traitor Wardes.<p>

That name had become a hot topic once again as it became public knowledge that the couple had been on the short list of Faeries honored to be promoted to Knighthood on the day of Queen Henrietta's coronation.

Curiosity, and more than a little interest whipped up by the newspapers, had drawn crowds of onlookers and passersby that had persisted for over a day before dying back down to the normal hum of rumors and gossip.

But for that time, the Kirigaya family had avoided their home, remaining in Tristania after the dubbing ceremony and then visiting in with friends in Orlein and Goibniu to wait for the sensationalism around the Faerie Knights to cool off.

Now that they were back, Kirito was just thankful that people had more interesting things to think about than the private lives of a couple of young people. Flying all over Tristain had kept them out of the limelight, but at the end of the day, it had also tired him out and left him stiff and hungry, and dreaming of his own bed.

An involuntary yawn netted him a gentle nudge from Asuna as the two hovered over the narrow bed and its lone occupant.

Lowering his arms from a stretch, Kirito's smile resumed.

All the flying had been tough on him and Asuna, but it had really worn out Yui who could no longer hitch rides in his pocket. The young Maeve hadn't even had the energy to change into her nightclothes on her own, Asuna had dressed her for bed before laying her down and tucking her in for the night.

The dark haired little girl's nose twitched and she turned over in bed, mumbling under her breath.

"Agh . . . giant . . . kumquat . . . look out . . . Tonkii-kun." Lips moved clumsily, slurring words as she hugged a pillow close to her chest and smiled.

Kumquat? Kirito wondered.

Yui had explained once that she needed to enter a standby state from time to time to carry out processing of buffered data and restructuring of her thought processes. It was possible that doing so would give rise to something like the human experience of dreaming. If so, he'd have to remember to ask if Yui remembered any Electric Sheep in the morning.

"It's like she doesn't even know she's in a dream." Asuna whispered in something between amusement and wonder. She'd been the one to accept Yui calling her 'Mama' all of those months ago, since then, she'd really started to grow into that roll, more than Kirito could ever have believed possible.

"Mmm . . . too much preserves . . . Aunt Silica . . . can't eat another bite . . ." Yui said as a little trickle of drool trailed down her cheek.

"She's cute when she's sleeping," Asuna tilted her head, "Just like her Papa."

"Yeah?"

Kirito didn't pay the teasing much mind as he reached out to pull the blanket over Yui's shoulders and dimmed the lamp on the nightstand down to nothing. The moonslight shinning in through the window was more than enough to see by, even without Night Vision, Asuna standing next to him, eyes closed, lips spread in a blissful smile.

If he'd asked a younger Kirigaya Kazuto, the Kazuto who had existed before Halkegenia, before ALO and the death game of Sword Art Online, what he expected in the future, Kirito suspected he would have been told simply about school and probably a vague ambition of ending up someplace in the tech industry.

He definitely wouldn't have had friends on his mind, or family. What would Kirito have told that other Kazuto if he had the chance?

Life didn't give people do overs, that was probably why it was so hard to not think about the impossible. He squeezed Asuna's hand, feeling the small increase in pressure as the gesture was returned.

Satisfied that Yui was fully asleep, the couple slipped out the door without making a sound, it would have been a shame to spoil their daughter's dream. Closing the door softly, both breathed a sigh of relief.

The house was locked up save for a few lamps downstairs and the last embers in the fireplace. Kirito took care of both while Asuna checked the second floor. He found her again in Suguha's room, sitting lightly on the edge of the bed beside his sleeping sister.

Suguha hardly stirred as the book she'd been reading was plucked from her hand and placed on her nightstand by Asuna. She'd already been asleep when they'd made it home.

"I'm glad she stayed here this time rather than sleeping at the barracks." Asuna said. "It's better to come home to a place that's being lived in."

"Un." Kirito nodded his head slightly, sinking down beside the bed.

She was really out like a light, he thought as he brushed Suguha's hair from her eyes. Kirito felt a little bit of regret. His sister had been working so hard lately that they'd barely had time to see each other except in passing. And now that time was going to get even more scarce.

Being Knighted wasn't just for show after all. They were going to be expected to train and be ready to go to war. To defend the Kingdom against enemies at home and abroad. That was the responsibility of Tristain's Knights.

But it was exactly because it was the responsibility of Knights that Kirito had agreed, reluctantly, to join the order of Yggdrasil. After all, what he could do as a single person was limited. It had been okay to be like that when it was only his life that he was betting by venturing out of the Safe Zones and into the various dungeons alone. In fact, he'd wanted it that way.

For the longest time it had seemed like it would be better to disappear alone someplace and some time where his mistakes wouldn't get anyone else killed. But that didn't work in Halkegenia. The danger didn't just wait in a dungeon to be taken care of by the Front Lines. Hope of anything like a peaceful life had disappeared even before the Galla, when the murders had started.

In reality, his ambitions were very small. To protect the people he cared about, and to survive. If he could just manage that for long enough, they'd find there way home. And if not . . . Then life would just have to go on here.

The world was too big though, for him to do even that much on his own. That was why he'd knelt before the Queen and taken the oath. And he was sure it was why Asuna had taken it beside him.

Coming to a decision, Kirito got to his knees and tenderly kissed Sugu on the forehead, wishing her goodnight. He adjusted the lamp down to a dim glow, just enough to see by, and then followed Asuna upstairs to the third floor and the master bedroom that they had come to share.

"Training starts next week." Kirito said, sitting on the bed while Asuna changed behind him, a blouse fell onto the bed beside him, followed by a skirt.

"Un." Asuna agreed. Rustling noises as she slipped her nightgown over her head. "We'll be in Tristania for a month to start with."

In that regard, the Faeries had a significant advantage over the Nobility who had to be trained from the ground up. They were already physically conditioned to the stresses of fighting and the motions of combat, unlike the human recruits who hadn't enjoyed any preparation save for sports and duels.

On the other hand, most of the Faerie volunteers had only recently been introduced to the harsh psychological realities of real combat, and especially to fighting against and as part of a large, organized force. Dunkirk had been the largest battle that any of them had ever been part of, and that had only consisted of a couple hundred Faeries divided between three separate operations.

Kirito hadn't been privileged to be part of Lord Mortimer's planning sessions, but he knew that there were proposed operations that would at least double that number, if not triple it.

Beside that. Only one in five of the Faerie volunteers had been involved in operation Dunkirk, most of the Self Defense Forces only had experience in fighting against mobs, not Halkegenian Mage soldiers.

They'd be training hard with the Tristanian Dragon Knights to make up for that. It would be a solid month of drills and mock battles mixed with lessons from experienced Faerie mages in the various magic disciplines.

The latter was where Kirito was really expecting to suffer despite putting in the time to learn the standard Utility spells and to add to his list of Illusion type magic. Barrier and ranged attack spells would be good to have too he thought. At very least he needed to get through the list of basic spells by the end of the first stage of training.

Kirto felt arms wrap around his shoulders, a faint whiff of perfume and cinnamon as a weight settled onto the bed behind him and then drew close.

"We're not going to have much time to ourselves." The Spriggan decided unhappily.

"We'll have a little. And we should have a few days between the training cycles, a week I think." Asuna answered. "So let's try to make the most of it when it comes."

"A month from now . . ." Kirito frowned. "We'll be in the middle of summer by then. Maybe the Lake won't be so freezing."

He was still regretting the dare he'd taken with Klein, ice cold, like a million little needles piercing his skin! And in the end, there hadn't even been a pay off. Not that Argo's information hadn't been good, someone else had simply braved the water before them to retrieve the chest they were looking for.

Whoever they'd been, they deserved it.

"So then, a beach trip . . ." Asuna sounded thoughtful.

Kirito craned his neck to look over his shoulder. "Is that a problem?" It was a little worrying when she said it like that and got that look in her eye.

Asuna shook her head quickly. "Actually, I think Yui-chan would love it. And a month should be enough time for everyone to plan for it. We can have a celebration for completing the first stage. Oh . . . is something wrong?"

"Not really." Kirito answered back, it was his turn to be lost in thought. "It's just that once we start the second phase . . . Are you sure you'll be alright?"

Asuna let her arms fall free so that Kirito could turn to face her. Legs folded up on the bed and leaning against one arm for support, her smile had faded a little. "It's going to be a lot like the Knights of Blood, I think."

Kirito nodded. Asuna's memories of her Guild weren't bad, but that didn't mean she'd been happy either.

Forty two Faeries had been Knighted by Queen Henrietta, a number that had been arrived at after considerable deliberation between the Fae Lords, the Nobility, and the Crown.

Lord Mortimer had wanted the number to be eighty one, in other words, nine Faeries of each established Race, but that number had eventually been paired down to forty two to appease the moderates in the House of Peers, those who continued to support their new Queen but were still nervous about the favor given to the Faeries.

Forty two had been settled upon as a solid initial number representing a full strength raid party, the largest formation that most of the Faeries were familiar with. General Eugene had received command of the Order of Yggdrasil Knights as field Commander of the Self Defense Forces, Asuna had accepted a position as his second in command where she would receive further tutelage under Lord Mortimer and his brother as well as their Tristanian allies.

As Knights, both of them would enjoy a status that was slightly elevated above their official rank. Kirito briefly paused as he digested the fact that he now _had_ a rank.

For instance, Asuna's authority as Sub Commander would be similar to an untitled Captain, and Kirito's own authority at the conclusion of their training would exceed that of a First Lieutenant.

But that also meant Asuna would be taking responsibility for the lives under her command and also, to an extent, the lives that they took. Kirito knew that Asuna was strong, but it was heavy burden to take upon herself once, much less to do it now for a third time.

"It'll be okay." She told him. "I hate it, but I'd hate it even more if I didn't do everything I could." She fell silent, turning around and pointing to the clothes laying on the bed. "I'm doing this for the right reasons. So I can live with myself."

It didn't take long for Kirito to get changed, and when he was finished, for Asuna to turn out the lights for bed. The Night Air of Arrun was deceptively silent as he lay awake in bed studying the ceiling and wondering silently if he hadn't made a mistake.

"Asuna?" He asked suddenly and to no reply. Right, she was probably already asleep.

He turned over, careful not to wake her, content to simply watch as she slept. No matter what happened, they were going to be fighting the same battles. They wouldn't always be side by side, but they would support each other. And with that, he gained a measure of peace.

That other Kazuto, the one from before SAO, would still be riddled with doubts. But for him, it was easy.

This was exactly where he wanted to be.

* * *

>Among the former players of ALO, the Faeries of ALfheim, there was an unspoken acceptance a person's past life shouldn't bare on their future. Between the skills granted by the Transition and various coping mechanisms that had come to the forefront as people acclimated themselves, this had had been accepted as generally sound advice.<p>Case in point, Drake of the Kurotaka, previously a content employee sidelined on the track to upper management, and now both a Faerie of the Spriggan race and a genuine Soldier of Fortune, at least when he wasn't doing pretty much, irksomely, what he'd done at his old job.<p>

"Where is she?" Drake growled as he charged through the double doors of the Kurotaka guildhall past a group of chattering Kurotaka archers and support mages who had nearly jumped out of their skin at the sight of their Second in Command in a decidedly pissed mood.

"Where's _who_, Darling?" The reply coming from high above his head, drake hissed a curse under his breath when he looked up to see Shirishi perched from the rafters.

"You know exactly who." The Spriggan Soldier of Fortune grunted out. And one more thing. "How the hell did you get up there?" Shirishi was strong, like just about every Faerie, but not to the point that she could vault five meters vertically.

Shirishi merely smiled and raised her left hand, filled with a ball full of swirling runes. In the space between heartbeats she went from 'there' to 'here' popping back into existence right in Drake's face.

Even seeing it coming, Drake's instincts twitched and he reached for his currently unavailable crossbow. Shirishi leaning forward with an amused smile that left the nearby Guild Members wondering how one hundred and sixty three centimeters of glamorous woman could somehow make one hundred and eighty one centimeters of gruff Spriggan fighter take a step back like that.

"So you learned a new trick." Drake grumbled.

"Transpositions are easy to get the hang of if you're far enough up the Dark Magic tree, Darling." Shirishi's lips twitched. "And it does come rather in handy. Now then, you're looking for our Fearless Leader I presume?"

Drake finally got some distance, straightening out his vest and gathering up his damaged calm, already severely strained. He'd think she was coming on to him if she didn't screw with everyone like that.

"Morgiana . . . Big Sis has some paperwork that's got to be signed off on. I left them for when she got back from Tristania."

Grain shipment manifests, specifically the amounts that were now moving up river towards Muisca where they would be filling up the newly erected granaries prior to winter. Two k-tonnes of wheat sounded like a lot, but split between four thousand people for winter, it didn't leave much wiggle room. And somehow, being a responsible man, Drake had ended up in charge of the books here in Arrun while Valdi kept things purring along in the Spriggan home city.

"I know she got in last night, but she still hasn't gotten them back to me." Drake fixed the Mistress of Dark Magic with a hard glare, met by her equally unyielding smile. "What gives?"

The two stood that way, like they always did. Why Shirishi defended her so much, Drake didn't think he'd ever know. The stalemate was broken by a passing Nori and Shime.

"Big Sis?" Nori hooked a thumb over her shoulder. "Isn't she in her office?"

Drake glanced to Nori and then back to Shirishi who's smile had widened exponentially.

"Why do you do this?"

"You need to stop and smell the flowers, Darling." The Spriggan woman laughed lightly as she fell in beside him. "Do that, or you'll crack like an egg eventually."

"Says the woman who addresses everyone as 'Darling'." And spent her discretionary income, generated by being a living, arcane weapon system, mind, on expanding her already elaborate wardrobe to ludicrous proportions.

Though for once, she was dressed almost reasonably, Drake observed, something that could almost have been a business suit back home if not for the touches of fantasy, little things that were easy to overlook in a sea of fairy tale and historically inspired clothes, but blisteringly obvious when he thought back to Japan.

For one, no business woman would have worn a suit collared in black feathers, at least, not unless they were in the esoteric world of fashion design.

"You like it?" Shirishi ran a hand down the side of her suit jacket, two finger sliding along the seam of her knee length skirt. He had the distinct impression she was putting a little extra -oomph- into showing off today. "It's what I wore to the Coronation."

"Eh?" Drake looked over his shoulder. "How was it?" Not that he actually cared. Not his sort of gig.

One of them had to go with Morgiana, it didn't look good for someone as important as a Faerie Lord not to have an assistant with them. And Morgiana had been weird for the last week or so. Quieter, more serious. Drake would have been happy about the change if it wasn't so damn disconcerting. Given that she was acting out of character, having Shirishi go had made sense, she'd known Morgiana way back in the day when ALO had first launched. Which really wasn't that long ago but now felt like a lifetime, someone else's lifetime.

Shirishi crossed her arms beneath her chest. "About what I'd expected. Lots of worthless Nobles paying respects they didn't really mean and dressed in the most garish get ups. They can go rot in hell." She held her smile mercilessly and gave a small laugh. "The new Queen was lovely though, the gown complimented her perfectly I must say."

"And Morgiana?" Drake grunted.

"It's not just being a Spriggan, black becomes her I think . . ."

Drake glared. Not what he meant.

Shirishi grew a little more serious, her smile almost melancholic. "Best behavior during the ceremony, and afterwords. She was almost . . . _demure_ actually."

The Spriggans sure loved their 'Big Sis' on Cult of Personality but Drake suspected she'd give him a heart attack one of these days. But at least it wouldn't be today. Hopefully.

The Kurotaka Guild Building was pretty much what anyone would expect based on the Guild's size. Prior to the Transition, the Kurotaka had kept their main hall in Muisca, and that was still where over half of the Guild worked, now doing the much less glamorous jobs of City Security and mob patrol duty while the fighters who had volunteered for combat were based out of Arrun.

The hall reflected this, a medium sized, H-shaped structure in Arrun's Southern district with accommodations for around eighty people, which included all of the Kurotaka combat branch and Morgiana's attached staff, the people who allowed her to do her job as Faerie Lord.

Mostly, that job was to delegate to people who actually knew what they were doing, and use that force of personality of hers to keep the collective Spriggan population of screwballs and black sheep in line. Basically, the same job they'd done out of the charity of their hearts before the Transition, just that now, it put bread on the table.

The inside of the hall said a lot about the Guild's personality, wood framed construction, like a western style lodge. The entry room overlooked a two level common area that was crammed with tables, benches, and couches with no particular rhyme or reason, just whatever the members had thought they needed. Meals would be eaten there, either made in the Hall Kitchen or brought in from outside, mostly it was a place for drinking and having a good time at the end of the day.

The first floor of either wing was where the actual work got done. Offices on the East side, the armory and workshops in the west, with living quarters, recreation space, and the Guild Master's office on the Second Floor. Which was where Drake found himself, parting a Murder of Spriggans by terrifying force of will alone before throwing open the doors of Morgiana's rarely used inner sanctum.

It was obvious that it was rarely used because it was thoroughly generic. Standard, plush green rug. Standard two sofas facing each other across a coffee table. And standard, big oak desk in front of three giant, floor to ceiling windows.

Reclined in her chair, boots up on the table, Morgiana opened one gray eye.

"There you are!"

Morgiana tilted her head curiously. A whole host of heads were poking in from out in the hall, curious little crows waiting to see what was going to happen. At least until Shirishi closed and locked the door.

"Don't you know people are looking for you?" Damn it, did she take anything seriously? Fighting for sure, but life was about more than fighting. Planting hands on the desk, Drake leaned over, eyeing his boss suspiciously. "I've got a wagon load of forms I have to go through every day just to boil them down to that stack in your inbox and all I ask is that they be ready to be picked up the next day."

Shirishi tugged at his shirt. "Drake, Darling."

"And what do I get out of it? I mean, I probably deserve a medal, or at least a bonus, but no, nothing! And you know what, I really wouldn't mind if you'd just keep me abreast of developments." To be fair, she always got them in on time, it just always raised his blood pressure along the way.

Morgiana stared at him, numbly taking it in.

"Drake." Shirishi sighed a little bit louder as she examined the papers stacked in the outbox, particularly a small card sitting on top.

"I mean, it's not too much to ask for." Drake was over the hill now and his irritation was starting to ebb. "All I want is a little forewarning and professionalism here. The Salamanders mange to do it, the Sylphs Manage to do it, hell even the Cait Syth managed to do it! He squinted at Morgiana. "And why do you look completely stoned?"

Morgiana blinked rapidly, it was like watching an old PC crashing face first into a disc error. At which point Drake finally noticed the card that Shirishi had been trying to give him. A little piece of notepaper with a hand drawn Chibi Morgiana giving a victory sign.

_Hey, to whoever picks these up, if I'm not back yet, keep it quiet that I snuck out. I've got some super secret business to take care of. Just tell Drake I'm bushed or something and want to be left alone. -Big Sis_

"Snuck out?" Drake grimaced as he looked back up at the stupidly head tilting form of his boss, realizing for the first time that she'd barely moved since he'd walked through the door.

Morgiana turned her head to follow Shirishi as she walked around the desk, whispering a chant that gathered a ball of light in the palm of her left hand before slamming it firmly into their Guild Leader's forehead. Morgiana's office chair rocked as her form blurred and dispersed into black smoke, leaving nothing to mark its passage.

"Clever." Shirishi said. "She must not have gone far if her decoy could maintain itself like that." She looked over to a nearly apocalyptic Drake.

"Oh, don't be like that. They're all filled out see?" Shirishi held up one of the sheets, pointing to a small correction in red ink. "You forgot to carry a two."


	6. Chapter 1 Part 3: Mom

Halkegenia Online v3.0 – Chapter 1 – Part 3

Perception made a difference, Sakuya knew this as empirical fact, an observation that held true through time and space. Depending on where one stood, one man's conqueror was another man's liberator. An enemy to one was friend to another.

The same was true of Mortimer, she supposed, as she followed her escort up the grand staircase to the Guild Master's office, without entourage today, thought she scarcely needed it for this.

She'd been in such a rush last time, so angry with the man. Weapons and armor were displayed along the walls, but that wasn't really any different than any other Marshal Guild Hall. And the paintings of battles that she'd passed so quickly before, she now took the time to note, were far from depictions glorifying war.

She had seen what she'd wanted to see, a monument to one man's over pumped ego and externalized sense of masculinity, and in doing so, she'd fallen into the same sort of delusional LARPing that she'd suspected of Mortimer.

The Lady of the Sylphs self consciously wrung the handle of the purse in her hands. There was no meeting scheduled for today, this was more a private matter . . . No, even in her head that sounded wrong. It was, she decided, better to call this a diplomatic visit.

Arriving once more at the towering doors of Lord Mortimer's Office, Lydia, now Dame Lydia, gave Sakuya a reprimanding glance. So, the Salamander Knight still didn't care for her? Sakuya couldn't fault her for that.

"Best behavior." Lydia warned and then rapped knuckles against the hardwood.

No answer but the soft turning of a lock, the doors opened inwards by a pair of guards on the far side, admitting Sakuya to Mortimer's inner sanctum and audience with the Salamander Lord Himself. Sakuya paused on the threshold.

Maybe it was the time of day, the light shinning down through the windows and skylights, or maybe her perception really had changed that much. But the office seemed lighter today, the tall, white walls, airier than she remember from the last time she'd been here.

Even the Jacques-Louis David painting didn't bother her so much now.

Mortimer had hardly looked up from his desk. The Salamander Lord too, had changed, seen through a different light. Face set and serious, posture slightly slouched. Less the cold tyrant that Sakuya had been imagining, and more of the overworked bureaucrat that he really was.

"Sakuya-san?" Mortimer looked up from his paper covered desk, rubbing at his eyes, tired, or maybe just surprised to see her here. His tone of voice didn't say, one way or the other. Either way, he was waiting for her to explain herself. Fair enough.

The Lady of the Sylphs waited for the doors to be closed behind her, the Guards retreating to wait outside. "Good afternoon, Mortimer-san. I hope you're recovery has gone well." Sakuya gave a small nod to Mortimer's posture, particularly the small slouch which still favored the uninjured side of his ribs.

Mortimer waved her question off. "Any pain is lingering." He set her with a curious look, like she was a puzzle that had dropped in his lap. "May I inquire to the purpose of your visit? It isn't like you to just drop in."

"I was told you didn't have any outstanding engagements." Sakuya said carefully. "I wished to have a moment of your time, to see if you would be free to meet this evening."

Mortimer frowned. "There's a brief conference with General Gramont, but that's to be done by Moonlight Mirror, so after sunset. Why? Wouldn't a message have sufficed?"

Perhaps it could have, Sakuya thought, but she'd rather face her own mistakes than hide behind someone else. It felt wrong not to accept some of the blame for the mess they were still cleaning up. Ephi's betrayal in particular, had come as a stinging blow against the reputation of the Fae, only counterbalanced by the tireless diplomatic efforts put forward by the Lords.

"I didn't feel it warranted an official dispatch." Sakuya said as she set the purse down on the table and opened its top. She reached inside to extract the bag's sole contents, a dark bottle that shone a rich, deep ruby red when it caught a beam of sunlight.

Mortimer's eyes narrowed. "That's . . . "The Salamander's brows crept up and he half rose from his chair to examine it for himself.

Sakuya placed the bottle on the desk, the glass making the smallest noise. "Alicia happens to be a real connoisseur." She'd had to spend her spare Yuld on something back when ALO was a game, and that something had been a fully stocked cellar comprised of some very fine, and now very alcoholic wines and brandies. "And, it just so happens that . . . Novair wrung the secret out of your brother before . . . before he passed." That had been something she'd learned from her deceased secretary's notes.

It had been those last thoughts that had inspired this gesture, small as it was. Maybe this wasn't really about her and Mortimer, maybe she just wanted it to have some meaning.

Mortimer put his pen down, it was the first time Sakuya could remember him looking unmistakably sympathetic. Funny, it really suited him.

"I think . . . I think he noticed the way I was treating you, even before I did." Sakuya explained. "And I think he wanted to see me put that to rest rather than letting it grow out of hand like it did."

Mortimer laced his finger on the desk in front of him. "It was hardly your fault, Sakuya-san." The Salamander Lord answered. "And you've already done more than enough . . . the help with the elections . . ."

"You didn't need it." Sakuya sighed. "Not really."

It had come to nobody's surprise, except maybe Mortimer's, that despite recent events, the reigning Salamander Lord had managed to once again win over a majority of the Citizens of Gaddan in the so called Crisis Management Elections that had been held in the wake of the Galla attack.

Sakuya had once heard Lydia mention that Mortimer had picked the Salamanders rather than the other way around, because he knew how to appeal to the mentality of the more aggressive players and bring them into line. Success in PvP had won him respect and the votes for Mortimer to rise to power, and seeing his aptitude extend to real life or death situations had convinced the Salamanders to vote for him again.

There had been a little competition, a few minor political figures on the Gaddan city council testing the waters, and some of the voters had no doubt cast their ballots to voice anonymous concerns about the direction their Leadership was taking. But the majority had come out in support.

When the dust had settled, Mortimer had come out with sixty two percent of the popular vote, with the next most popular candidate, the head of the Gaddan trade and commerce association garnering twenty three percent thanks to well voiced concerns over Mortimer's ill advised secrecy which had played right into the hands of the Traitors.

It didn't hurt that word had gotten out about the severe injuries that Mortimer had sustained during the attempt on his life, or the efforts he had gone to in order to route the hidden conspiracy base beneath the Capital, which had been further helped along by a favorable spin owed to Alicia by a certain reporter.

Normally Sakuya would have been offended by the sensationalism, but the truth was, it wasn't far off from how things had really happened.

"Consider it an election gift if you like." Sakuya said. "Drinking is something that should be done with company. This evening perhaps?"

Mortimer had picked the bottle off the table, turning it to read the label fondly. "That Lackadaisical Cat has good taste," he murmured, reclining back in his chair as he began to answer and then stopped. "It's very generous . . ."

Sakuya arched a slender eyebrow. "But?"

"I don't drink." Mortimer explained, and then elaborated at Sakuya's frown. "Not anymore . . . Now that it's real." The words almost spilled out, as if it was an embarrassing secret.. He pulled at the collar of his shirt. "I didn't have the best habits in that other world. I don't feel like making them over again here. I apologize."

Of course he wouldn't. Sakuya sighed softly. Go figure that this would be a waste of time and effort. She said as much, and was about to take the bottle back when Mortimer spoke up again.

"Though perhaps . . ." He rubbed at his temples. " . . . Perhaps socially. I can't see the harm in one glass." He tilted his head. "I assume you'd prefer it to be at your offices?"

"After hours." Sakuya agreed. "The view of the city is beautiful at night."

Sakuya glanced around the rest of the office, realizing that she'd never had the chance to take the space in. More bookshelves than she'd noticed the first time she was here. And the map table was definitely a new addition. Her eyes came to rest over the back wall, particularly, a painting hanging over the doors.

Had that been there before?

"Paul Delaroche." Sakuya commented. "I'm actually a little surprised you would hang that in your office."

"Pardon?" Mortimer glanced up to see what Sakuya was looking at. "Is it really that strange?" Mortimer asked.

Sakuya gave a graceful shrug of her shoulders. "Maybe not, but is there a particular reason you'd choose to look at that painting all day? Wouldn't you prefer the one behind you? Or are you trying to send a message?"

She was fairly sure that his small cough had been Mortimer's best impression of a chuckle. "You mean am I being self deprecating by looking at Delaroche rather than David? Delaroche had a rather favorable impression of Bonaparte by his own admission, it doesn't detract from his achievement in the least. The truth is," Mortimer shrugged nonchalantly, "I simply like Delaroche more than David."

"Oh?" Sakuya looked on curiously.

It was a welcome surprise, she realized. A study of France really couldn't overlook the Napoleonic wars and be called complete. She supposed that was true for military history as well. "I think we may have just found this evening's conversation topic."

"I look forward to it." Mortimer nodded slowly and gave what might almost have been a smile, interrupted by another knock at the chamber door.

"I thought you said you didn't have any meetings?" Sakuya traded looks with an equally mystified Mortimer.

"Nothing planned." His lips twitched. "Then again, it seems like I've been receiving nothing but surprises recently. Pixies come to mind."

Sakuya would have rolled her eyes at any other time, but she really didn't know what else to say.

Spending time with Hinagiku and the other Shamans had been surprisingly informative, the small lives were virtual founts of information about the game Lore of ALO, and the more Sakuya had listened and learned, the more she'd realized that it would be a disservice to treat them as merely children.

The Pixies were physically weak, but they were far from helpless, and even further from standing idly could could she have stopped them if they were intent on protecting their homes, short of destroying them herself?

Sakuya felt no small measure of guilt, like she was handing the problem off to someone else by sending the diminutive Faeries to speak with Mortimer, but she'd also trusted that in the end, he was the best person to handle the battle inclined Vespid Knights.

"We're going to have to have a talk about that as well, Sakuya-san." Mortimer said humorlessly. "It was quite the surprise at the Headquarters Building". Then, before she could say a word, Mortimer raised his voice. "Enter."

The doors didn't so much swing open as -boom-, bringing with them the impression of someone tall, dark, and stunning parting the guards and aids like an icebreaker. The Lady of the Spriggans couldn't have been mistaken for anyone else, and it certainly was her personality to arrive unannounced. Barging in certainly wouldn't have been unheard of either.

But the Morgiana that had just let herself in, lacked a certain something, she looked almost anxious. Sakuya looked on, mystified, Mortimer actually got up from his seat.

"I tried to stop her on her way in!" Lydia shouted as she chased after the Spriggan Lord. "She just came straight here and won't say . . ."

Morgiana put a hand on the shorter woman's shoulder and promptly turned her around and towards the door. "Okay, thanks for the help getting here, I got this, bye bye."

"Lady Morgiana!" Lydia spun back around and reached for the Spriggan Lord's black half-cape.

"That's enough." Mortimer instructed sternly. "Both of you!"

The two Faerie women looked between themselves and the Salamander Lord, Morgiana seeming almost sheepish. "Sorry, sorry . . ." Morgiana breathed quickly. " . .. Look I just really need to talk with you . . . _both_ of you." She glanced over her shoulder. "You know . . . in private."

Something was out of place, Sakuya thought, something that she did not notice at first, the way that Morgiana was clenching and un-clenching her fists. She'd been this way at the coronation, the receptions afterward too.

Sakuya hadn't payed it much mind at that time, but it was especially odd given that the Spriggan Lord played almost as good a poker face as Mortimer. She traded a look with Mortimer and then back to Morgiana.

"It seems a little rude to ask something of a guest in someone's house." Sakuya observed. So much for this being Mortimer's problem. "But I suppose it can't be helped. How did you even know we were both here?" She'd meant to make this a short excursion over lunch.

"Oh that?" Morgiana chuckled weakly. "The twerp with the bowl cut out front caved like a house of cards. You should have seen him stammering." The recollection almost had Morgiana looking like her old self.

Sakuya supposed that would be Recon's disposition. The boy was a hard worker, and smarter than he gave himself credit for. Now if only he'd work on his hangups with women . . .

Mortimer gave Sakuya a cold glance, they exchanged nods. It couldn't be helped. "Lydia."

"Sir?"

"If you would please see to it, Captain."

Lydia looked reluctant to leave, but Sakuya had never known her to disobey an order. Discipline and decorum were as much a part of the Knight's persona as personal grace was part of Sakuya's. With a small bow and a "My Lord", Lydia turned smartly on her heel and marched from the room, giving a last glance to Sakuya that seemed to say something like 'You are the lesser of two evils in this room.'

Once the doors were again safely closed, Mortimer took to his seat. He didn't do anything as simple as ask Morgiana what she was here for. No, that would be too easy. Instead, he stared.

Morgiana fidgeted.

Seeing that even at his best, the Salamander was still only slightly more emotive than a rock, Mortimer could convey a lot with his stares. This one was simply asking the question that he had neglected to speak.

The Spriggan woman began to pace to and fro like a caged animal.

Sakuya could see the pressure building up. Now that she was here, Morgiana really didn't seem to know what to do with herself. It just built up, and up, and up until . . . well . . . -pop-

Stopping dead in her tracks, the Spriggan turned to face Mortimer's desk. "I'm late." The words faded slowly from the air.

Sakuya was fairly sure that they'd only been spoken, but it felt like they'd been shouted. The Sylph felt the blood draining from her already pale cheeks. Whatever she'd been imagining . . . this was worse . . .

"Then you should hurry and tell us what you're here for." Mortimer sighed as he started to riff through the paper's on his desk, somehow oblivious. "I wouldn't want to keep your from a prior engage . . . " It had clicked for him too " . . . ment."

So that was what Mortimer looked like when he blanched. Sakuya thought.

Morgiana simply stood there, arms crossed, lips pressed thin. "Pretty sure I can't miss this one."

Sakuya was the first to recover, taking a calming breath. It didn't make her first question any more helpful. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah." Morgiana nodded her head sarcastically. "Pretty sure! The Doctors think so too, so it's not just me freaking out."

Sakuya bit her lip, a million scenarios were flooding through her mind, none of them particularly good. Morgiana wasn't the first, and it was very, very unlikely that she'd be the last. That was natural, that was biology. But most had been staying very quiet about it for obvious reasons, and for a Faerie Lord, it could spell disaster.

Because for all that the political figures of Tristain knew, the Lady of the Spriggans was unwed, and now with child. The backlash would be monumental, and just as they were riding out the aftermath of the Galla. They did not need this right now!

"It's sort of why I thought I should talk to you." The Spriggan woman muttered as she flopped down on a sofa. "You're the big political strategist."

The Sylph groaned as she put a hand over her eyes. At least tell me you know who the father is." Sakuya spun around, eyes growing wide. "You do know who the father is, right?"

"Come on, Sakuya-chan." Morgiana laughed bitterly. "You really think I just let anyone get in my panties?" Her eyes flashed between her fellow Lords. "Okay . . . don't answer that. But that's the other reason I'm here." She tilted her head towards Mortimer.

"Oh?" Mortimer's frown deepened, and then slowly melted away. "Oh. Oh no . . . You didn't."

She wouldn't. Sakuya prayed. She couldn't. She could and she had.

"Eugene?" Sakuya bit out shortly. "You slept with Eugene." Sakuya knew she was raising her voice, and she didn't care, looming over the sitting Spriggan woman like a child receiving reprimand. "What were you thinking?!"

Morgiana chuckled nervously. "Well, you know how it is. I've always had a thing for washboard abs . . . And I'm a _big_ girl." She babbled on almost hysterically. "And that thing they say about Salamanders? Totally true!"

"Morgiana!" Sakuya admonished ruthlessly. Not only was it grossly inappropriate, it was outright disturbing, peering into those dark gray eyes and seeing a terrified woman who didn't know how to stop being her larger than life persona, even as that identity shook apart around her.

But she did stop, licking her lips, and then in a small voice. "Hey . . . Hey Sakuya . . . what the hell am I supposed to do?" Morgiana shivered as she pulled her arms around herself. "Shit . . . shit . . . It's actually happening, isn't it? Shit."

Silence between the two women, it stretched on for much too long until strangest of all, Mortimer was the one to speak."

"What is it that you want to do, Morgiana?" The Salamander asked quietly.

Morgiana looked at him, confused and a little scared, not at all her normal self. "I mean to say . . ." Mortimer explained slowly,"Have you and Eugene thought about this child's future? Or . . ." He stopped as Morgiana looked away, ashamed.

"You haven't told him yet." Sakuya concluded. No wonder she was scared senseless.

Foolish, stupid! And already doing all the punishing to herself, Sakuya realized. Screaming at her wasn't going to help anyone.

Sitting down on the couch beside Morgiana, Sakuya draped on arm over the taller woman's shoulders and squeezed gently. "Can you tell how far along you are? When you probably conceived?" That would give them an idea at least, how much time before she started to show.

Morgiana shifted slowly. "It was . . . it was about two months ago . . . " She placed a hand to her stomach. "We only slept together the one time, after Dunkirk. It was sort of an accident." Morgiana bit her lip. "We were drunk, and our blood was still hot. I just found out a week ago."

"And we're the first people you've told?" Sakuya asked. "Why? What about Drake, or Shirishi?" Both of the Kurotaka co-leaders were close to their Guild Master, she could have trusted them with this. Why weren't they with her now?

Morgiana shook her head slowly, pleading look in her eyes. "You think I can tell them when I'm like this?" Morgiana waved to herself. "I've been getting by being 'Big Sis' to them. I know that, I'm good at it. I don't know how to be . . . to be . . . Mom." She raised her arms, shook her head, and then just let go

Sakuya's mind turned over the details, the more she thought about it, the worse it looked, and the more inevitable. "Mortimer." Sakuya breathed slowly. "You better send a dispatch for your brother. He's in Gaddan right now, isn't he?" Overseeing the marshaling of the Salamander volunteers.

Mortimer nodded slowly. "I'll assign a courier. And leave instructions for him to open it in private." They could trust their Darkness Mages with almost any secret, except maybe this. This simply dripped of the potential for gossip, and if it got beyond this room, it _would_ get out.

"No." Morgiana interrupted. "Just tell him to get back here. I should . . . I should be the one to tell him."

Then they'd have to get started on damage control, Sakuya thought. And depending on how things went . . . She didn't want to say it out loud, not with Morgiana like this. Arrangements were going to have to be made.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of Mortimer lifting the bottle she'd left on the table. "Sakuya-san, I'd appreciate it if you asked Rue-san if she has anymore of this." He sounded devilishly tired. "I have a sinking feeling we're going to need it."


	7. Chapter 1 Part 4:Best Laid Plans of Cats

Halkegenia Online v3.0 – Chapter 1 – Part 4

The City of La Rochelle, the High Port, situated atop the peaks of a mountain sharing the same name, one of the largest sky ports on the continent thanks to dint of location and the gargantuan Yggdrasil Oak that had sunk its roots deep into the living stone of the mountain top at its heart, and even now in the midst of war, the Gateway to Albion.

People said that last part like it was a dirty word, the Royal families of the continent weren't fond to count one less among their number, but the Nobility still coveted the wealth that flowed, reduced, from trade with the White Isle, and were willing to cross the Church to get it, under the table of course.

Because in the end, Albion still had something that everyone wanted, and so long as that was true, the shipments would always make port, the wheels of commerce would turn, the Nobility would grow rich, and the roots of La Rochelle would remain as vibrant as ever, soaked in a rain of gold, the streets crammed full of travelers, merchants, and mercenaries, all migrating inwards, toward the Harbor Tree and riches.

Frankly that suited her just fine, the slight, green haired shadow thought. The fatter the pigs got, the better for her when she poached them. She slipped through the crowds swarming the streets, one face lost among countless many. That suited her just fine too.

None would have recognized her, though they'd most certainly heard of her. There was a certain celebrity that grew up around someone when they stole from the treasures of the Nobility and flaunted it so well. For instance, like the Nobility of Tristain who had grown prosperous from nearly two decades of peace, and then grown corrupt and greedy on top of it.

The same corruption and greed, the same _selfishness _that had taken away the life and title she was born to. Matilda hadn't felt an ounce of pity as she'd bled them of their wealth. Family heirlooms, precious gems, magical artifacts, whatever her customers desired.

If they could dream of it and uncover its location, she could retrieve it. There wasn't a chest, safe, or fortress that could keep her out once she decided she wanted in. In the end, her victims were a little poorer, she was a little richer, and the rest of the world was much the same.

Business had been good. Until recently anyways.

Which was why she was here now instead of still playing secretary with that Dirty Old Man while trying to get her hands on the blasted Staff of Destruction. Not that it mattered now, not that any of it mattered.

Foquet the Crumbling Earth, Miss Longueville, Matilda ex-Lady of Saxe-Gotha, whoever and whatever she needed to be really, mused darkly.

The world was fast changing, and what the Customers wanted one day was not what they wanted the next. And if what the Customers wanted happened to be in the lightly guarded homes, and somewhat more than lightly guarded Guild Halls of the Fae, interesting magical trinkets valued as much for novelty as power, rather than well fortified vaults, well then, Foquet wasn't one to argue with the Customers' tastes.

She barely needed to pay attention to where she was going, years at her trade had taught her to be light and nimble on her feet, and to navigate as much by feel and instinct as by sight and thought. Besides, she'd moved through this port many times before, she knew the streets like a well worn glove.

So a slender and delicate looking woman of decidedly Noble countenance threading through the crowds might draw an eye or two, it would go mostly without comment in a city like this.

And if it did go with comment, the commentator would discover that delicate looking Noblewomen were not nearly as fragile or harmless as they appeared.

She was getting close to the Port now, her destination, the long branches of the Yggdrasil Oak stretched overhead, once the largest living thing in all of Halkegenia, and now barely a footnote in the shadow of the 'True' Yggdrasil that grew up within the borders of Tristain.

It was that World Tree, or rather, its attached hangers on, that had changed things so suddenly and so radically. Some for the better, maybe, and others decidedly for the worse.

"Pard'n Miss."

A tall and broad shouldered porter brushed past her on the left, the jingle of coin in his purse, and the look of a drunk in his eyes. She let him pass with barely a second glance, far from being a mark, he was just another of the countless laborers that serviced the Port every day, the take would be small and cause him and his more hurt than it would ever do her or hers good.

Useless now anyways, it wasn't as if she was short of money in these interesting times. Faeries made as good of marks as Nobles, much too trusting with their money and with their treasured artifacts, some of which sold quite nicely on the black markets.

And the Thief Foquet _had _been short of work recently, or rather, indisposed while she'd lain low under her assumed identity of Miss Longueville and observed the Faerie City of Arrun under the auspice of her employer.

With her cover as secretary to the distinguished, and perverted, Headmaster of the Academy of Magic, it had been almost too easy to simply wander into the Faerie City whenever she pleased and leave none the wiser.

In fact, once she'd been inside, it had been harder to drag herself out. The sights, the sounds, the scents. Wonder stacked upon wonder, all of it new, and interesting, and exciting. And valuable. The Faeries didn't even know what they had, which made it all the easier, like taking from children.

Matilda's smile faded ever so slightly at that thought. She wasn't exactly _proud_ of stealing from the Fae. It was an accomplishment, and she took professional satisfaction that she could worm her way through the safes and woefully inadequate magic defenses she'd found in the less guarded of the Faerie Halls.

The defenses of wealthier Guilds and the government buildings had suddenly shown signs of being brought up to snuff, proof that the Fae, while innocent as a race, were no fools.

In fact, the more time she'd spent among the sometimes cordial, always eccentric, magical beings who had suddenly sprung into existence one early Spring morning, the more she'd come to like them. They were mages, of course, even nobility by the standards of Tristain which counted every mage a Noble. But they hardly acted the part of Nobility.

But it might as well be fair trade for the danger they'd imposed, even unintentionally, upon her precious family.

Since the death of the Archduke of Albion, since the death of her own Father, and Mother, and everyone else that she held dear, there had only be Tiffania and the children that they had sheltered together.

Tiffania who had never harmed a soul in her life.

Tiffania whose existence was the reason their families had been murdered.

Tiffania who would be consigned to death for being born of her Elven mother and Royal father.

Matilda gritted her teeth. It was a fate she could not abide for her adopted sister.

After the murder of the Archduke at the orders of his own brother, King James, after the murder of her own father at the hands of the same. Matilda still couldn't remember it clearly, she recalled being put to bed, and then, suddenly, running through the forests, panting for breath and covered in dirt and blood, dragging a tiny little blonde girl by the hand as she clutched a child's wand in a balled fist, crying her tears to an uncaring world.

That was enough to make Matilda stop in the middle of the street and squint. She raised a hand to her temple and rubbed slowly. In all the intervening years, she had never been able to recall what had happened between being put to bed by her mother and father and winding up in the forests outside Saxe-Gotha, the burning estates at her back. Only knowing that everyone was dead and that she had to run or she would be killed too.

Maybe it was a blessing, the one time the Founder had intervened on her behalf.

They had fled that awful place. Deeper and deeper into the darkness, guided only by memory and her father's instructions, well ingrained, that they would find safety in the forests that had once been said to be the ancient home of Faeries.

Their refuge had been more tangible than Children's stories, a safe house arranged for the Archduke by Matilda's father, meant to safely hide his daughter and mistress if something were to happen to him.

The house had been well-hidden, and well provisioned, enough food, and water, and firewood, to keep them alive through a bitter winter spent huddled close, terrified that the people who had killed their families would return.

But they did not return, nor dare venture deep in the forest.

Her father, in his last act of loyalty, had saved the lives of both of them. And their shared loss had made them sisters truer than blood.

When spring had come and their food had started to dwindle, it had been Matilda as the elder who'd had to strike out. She was old enough and had been tutored well enough that she could protect herself. And certainly Tiffania could never have dared to leave the safety of the forests.

They'd needed food, so Matilda had bought it, first with the money hidden away in the safe house, then begging when that ran out, and finally turning to theft to keep bread on the table.

She'd fallen in with pickpockets, with petty thieves, and then not so petty burglars. She'd learned from each in turn before moving on, how to break and enter, how to forge and how to seduce, how to pick locks, how to move unseen, all with and without magic.

In less than a year, she grew from an urchin to a fully graduated thief. The next year she was burgling the homes of the well to do, places she would once have been bowed and scraped to by men seeking her father's favor. The year after that, she'd raided the house of the Grand Barrister of Saxe-Gotha, the man who now ruled her family's former estates.

She'd stolen back a family heirloom, gifted to her Grandfather by the Tudor's, one of the ancient load stones that bore the runes of a treasure of Air. It had been an item of great pride to the family, a symbol of their status as trusted servants.

She'd sold it at once, and it had fed her and Tiffania, and the other mouths gathering in their haven.

Children, even younger than Tiffania, not even children, toddlers who had escaped the purges by simply being too young, infants born the winter after the murders. Between starvation and the elements, they were all that was left of the many families that had served both the Archduke and her own father. The last children born of destitute wives and daughters.

It had become Tiffania's responsibility to raise them as best she could while Matilda had grown bolder in her efforts to provide for them. Matilda's career had burst forth. The thief Foquet had been born and his mettle proven through theft after theft, each more extravagant and unexpected than the last.

It had all been for Tiff, Tiff and the children that were growing up more and more each time that Matilda had managed to visit.

And as for Tiffania, the half-Elf had grown tall and lovely, and still every bit as sweet and mild as she had been as a girl. Bitterly, Matilda had thought, so bitterly, if not for what she was, there would be no need for her sister to hide herself.

They'd never argued about it, never spoken a word, but it had been agreed for Tiffania to remain behind with the children, living where they could remain in peace. And Saxe-Gotha was peaceful at least.

Even in the midst of the Civil War the fighting had touched only lightly there, and the Faerie stories had given protection to Tiffania, myths and legends that the people had been inclined to believe rather than thinking the distant silhouette sometimes glimpsed at dawn or dusk was an elf.

Those stories had kept her sister safe. But now the Faeries were real, and the Old Wives tales that the Reconquista had been eager to dismiss before were suddenly starting to be looked at with new eyes.

One way or another, she had waited as long as she dared to learn what she could, Matilda knew, she had to get her sister out of Albion or she would be discovered. And what came after that wasn't worth thinking upon.

Of course, every problem contained the kernel of its own solution. This had dawned on Matilda as she'd been sitting with the Headmaster outside one of the Faerie Cafes, politely ignoring his complaints about the clever short pants that many of the Faerie women wore beneath their skirts. That was, when they didn't simply wear trousers like the men.

It had been a Sylph, of course, blonde as Tiffania and nearly as generously proportioned, arguing with a lime green haired member of her race. And it had been while looking upon them that she had begun to see the opportunity.

The Faeries looked like Elves. In other words, Elves looked like Faeries.

Tiffania would be hunted because of them. Now, her younger sister's salvation depended on them.

It had not been easy, of course not, nothing of this sort was ever easy. Arrangements needed to be made. She needed a fast ship. Preferably something small that could stay beneath the notice of both the Royal Navy and the blockading sky fleets of Romalia and Tristain, and Founder forbid the Faerie patrols!

And of course, a crew that could be trusted with a dangerous mission, and who would not ask too many questions. It would be better to return through Germania, so a Northern flagged vessel would be best.

That had left Matilda only to find a secluded place where Tiffania and the children could be moved, someplace close enough to the Faerie settlements to avoid suspicion from Tristain, but far enough that the Fae would not visit frequently. And most importantly, relatively safe from the mobs that infested the wilds.

The Port was a riot of activity, people of every nation and creed flocking around the cranes and hoists that ran through the branches to deliver cargo to and from the waiting ships. Dock hands shouted and jostled each other as the last ships for the day set ready to sail.

Such a place _did_ indeed exist, a pleasant little northern village that had made peace with the Small Lives, the forests there were safe, and if need be, Matilda was a fair enough hand to erect a stone cottage herself. Tiffania and the children would have a new home this winter, someplace hopefully far from danger. And maybe even safe enough for her sister to not fear the slightest sighting.

She'd already sent word ahead.

As Foquet, her illicit resources were not to be underestimated, even if those resources had been recently diminished in the wake of the new Queen of Tristain's aggressive house-cleaning. It seemed Henrietta took a little after her uncle.

Everything was falling into place.

But Matilda didn't let herself hope for too much. Not yet. In her experience, the Founder didn't share his love with her or her sister.

* * *

><p>Akira Shirotaka, formerly a hacker in Alfheim online, amongst other places, and now 'Shiori', a trio of black clad assassin Cait Syth girls, clung grimly to the underside of a boat at night and tried not to be distracted by how nervous, upset and angry the rest of her were.<p>

There wasn't room for distraction in a stealth run, and this was rather longer than any 'run' she'd ever tried before.

Even sneaking out of the Fae capital and then across the border into Gallia was nothing compared to this, and however nervy all of her were, and she wasn't quite sure if they were all one person or three people going in almost entirely the same direction yet, she was determined not to mess this up.

Not the least because now she could really die three times over.

Which meant there could be no mistakes, no chances given, no _mercy_.

The ship they were stowing away on was from Gallia, not flagged for transport, and certainly not publicly registered either, and a bit of careful spying had allowed her to determine, headed for Albion.

A comforting hand squeezed her shoulder after a moment, and she was careful not to relax into the reassurance, relaxation might cause her to 'let go' and that, they could not do...

Just now. In another hour, another two, the ships company above them would be largely asleep, and they could board, and spy, and prepare, and then wait and hide for another two days more. _This_ ship was no speedy vessel, neither a clipper nor a military bird, and it was running supplies to 'Reconquista'.

Her worked-steel climbing claws dug a bit more firmly into the ship's hull at the surge of hatred that thought caused, and a not insignificant part of her wondered what was _wrong_ with them these days, and sorted through possible causes. Being a girl and wondering if 'that time of the month' had finally caught up with them, being part beast and prone to not just the playful side of being a cat, being stuck in a real murderous world, having nightmares about the bandits they'd murdered, _being three people at once_ . . .

Probably all of the above.

It didn't matter.

Someone in 'Reconquista' had killed some of Asuna-sama's people and done _that_ to them.

Akira's little sister had been thirteen when she had been trapped in SAO, and she had never been a fighter there. People like Asuna and the Knights of Blood were the only reason Nanami was still alive, somewhere back there in that other world.

Which meant every single one of the ones responsible and anyone who helped them was going to die.

Even if Shiori had to murder them _one at a time_.

A savage smile spread across her lips at the thought, and she knew without looking that it was echoed by the other two of her.

Having six hands to wield blades with and the mage-staff slung across her back meant she very certainly didn't have to restrain herself to one at a time.

The _Brimir's Bounty_ would make landfall in Albion only after every member of her crew was dead, but that certainly did not mean its current cargo of gunpowder would never reach Reconquista at all.

Uncreative people appeared to think buff spells could only be applied to _people_, but Shiori thought otherwise.

Even if she was wrong, she couldn't possibly resist testing the theory, and there would never be a better opportunity.

* * *

><p>Author's Note: Credit where credit is do, Shiori is the personal creation of the reader Gamlain who gave me permission to steal her for my story. Much thanks!<p> 


	8. Chapter 2 Part 1: Recrcuits

Author's Note: Well, this Chapter is at an awkward spot, it really doesn't fit with what's come before or immediately after, but bare with it.

* * *

><p>Halkegenia Online v3 - Chapter 2 - Part 1<p>

The cliffs of Albion.

Said to any novice navigator, the words immediately elicited dread. The sheer cliffs of the White Isle were infamous for their treachery, the concealing mists, dazzling white surfaces, and the turbulent and oft unpredictable air streams that surrounded them transforming the coast of the floating continent into a lethal obstacle to approaching ships which frequently struggled at their altitude ceiling to rise over the dangerous rim.

Years of hard won experience went into the training of every Albionian Navigator so that they could negotiate around the edges and lead ships through the winds. Years more went into mastering the art of flying in Albion's shadow, a feat that could only be achieved by Royal Navigators. It had become a matter of Pride that only a real Albionian could master flying the coast and airspace of the White Isle.

Still, the cliffs had more than earned their reputation, demanding quick wits, sharp senses, a grasp of three dimensional navigation, and a clear head under pressure.

In short, it was the perfect appraisal grounds for Dragon Knights.

The air overhead shook, and a shadow flashed between the earth and the sun as the latest candidate and his mount dove through the finish marker hung between a pair of hot air balloons strung from the edge of the cliff.

"Nine out of twenty, time three minutes and twelve seconds." Miss Luttece said dispassionately as she adjusted her glasses and cast a sharp glance to Sir William Wells, acting Flight Leader of the Fourth Dragon Knight's squadron.

The two were situated at the top of a wooden observation tower that had been constructed overlooking the cliffs, giving a wide, almost vertigo inducing view of open airspace along the Isle's western coast. It was from here that they'd been watching the trials so far. And as it was, Wells had only one word for it.

Disappointing.

"Is that really the best showing a member of the seventeenth squadron can give?" Wells wondered. If that was the case, then the consolidated squadrons were going to be in dire shape in the coming operations. As it was they were going to be hard pressed to integrate the new squadron members, there would be no time to bring the new recruits up to the standards demanded by the Captain.

"I'm sure that Master Dunwell would say that one 'Gets what they pay for' in the aerial cavalry." Miss Luttece said quietly.

The Lieutenant cast an eye to the woman, Wells didn't know from where his Captain's secretary hailed from, but he was thankful to have her. A brilliant hand at paperwork, and she simply did not seem to tire, even as Sir Wells found himself ground under the work load.

More importantly, she had an uncanny knack for grasping Sir Dunwell's intentions, acting at times nearly as an extension of the Captain's will. During Sir Dunwell's recent absences, her council had grown ever more important, especially as they struggled to return the Squadron to flightworthiness.

Up until just two months ago, the Fourth Squadron had been known as an elite formation. Sir Dunwell had taken care in selecting each and every member of the unit to form a well coordinated force that was more than the sum of its parts.

Together, they'd seen some of the hardest fighting after the fall of Londinium, eliminating Royalist Dragon Knight formations that had been sent on missions to destroy food stocks and poison water supplies in the Southern regions, and they'd been on point for the capture of York. Through all of that, they'd lost only three of their numbers, two serious injuries, and one fatality.

It had been the best showing of the war, on either side, until the Faeries had arrived. That was when their luck had taken a turn.

Their numbers winnowed down by almost half in the following pursuit and run ins with that woman. Wells didn't know where the epitaph that was being passed around the barracks had come from, but 'Asuna the Lightning Flash' and her Knights of Blood had lived up to their reputation as told by the resurrected Faeries.

It had taken luck and numbers to bring her to ground, and it nearly hadn't worked even then.

'And just when we thought we had her, she conjured a demon from the depths of hell.' Wells thought calmly as he recalled the monster that had torn through the field fortifications outside of Newcastle.

With horrors like that at their enemy's side, it almost made abominations like Cromwell's . . . servants . . . tolerable. Almost.

In any case, the Faerie involvement had shaken up high command in the wake of the blunder at Newcastle. For generations, Albion had stood confident of its supremacy in the field of Aerial warfare. No Kingdom had ever contested the White Isle in the skies. Not until York and Newcastle.

The losses among the aerial cavalry had simply been gruesome. Of the six squadrons that had fought at New Castle and York, the combined attrition rate had exceeded thirty percent. Never in its history had Albion suffered such casualties in its home airspace.

The effectiveness of the Faeries had come as a shock to the field commanders of Albion's air forces and the stories that had trickled back to Londinium had the new 'Air Marshals' in an uproar.

Heads had rolled, some literally bouncing down the steps of Londinium Tower. One of those heads had nearly been that of Admiral Blake, but Lord Cromwell had seemingly taken a liking to him and extended his protection. Maybe the new master of Albion actually recognized competence, or maybe it was Cromwell's masters who had seen value in the former Supreme Commander of the Royal Navy.

Chaos was the order of the day, from the high offices on down to the various field commands. The mages and military minds at the Royal Arsenal had been set to work brainstorming countermeasures for the new threat presented by fast and agile Faerie skirmishers and their nearly inexhaustible bag of tricks.

In the meantime, units were being reordered as an expedient. The eighth and seventeenth squadrons of the aerial cavalry, which had taken the brunt of the losses, were being entirely cannibalized to bring the remaining formations back up to strength.

Meanwhile the ninth squadron had been disbanded and its survivors distributed to the remaining unblooded squadrons to spread around the firsthand experience in combating Faeries. The same had nearly been the fate of the Fourth Squadron until Sir Dunwell had managed to successfully argue for the unit's reconstitution.

The first step would be to restore moral and rebuild the Squadron's combat strength. But the success of that venture was entirely dependent on the quality of the recruits. Every cavalryman with a pair of stirrups would jump at the chance to join a respected formation, not all of them had what it took.

Targets were reset, hot air balloons were refired and let to drift up into the air where they swayed and twisted in the air stream. A horn call echoed across the edges of the cliffs, and to the north, in the near distance, a dark body cast itself from the heights of the cliff face and then spread wings wide into a fast swoop.

"Next one is up." Miss Luttece examined her clipboard. "Sir Jacob Meinhardt, Ensign, formerly of the Eighth Squadron. Line of Fire specializing in combustion type techniques. Survived the battle of Newcastle." The secretaries cold green eyes sparked. "He should be interesting."

"We'll see." Wells muttered as he observed for himself.

The man had daring, the Lieutenant would admit that much. As he watched, Dragon and Rider continued their dive until they reached terminal velocity, only then changing their flight regimen, wings catching on the morning thermals that drove them back up into the sky.

"He's missed the first four targets." Luttece observed with a hint of disapproval, ruby lips pressing thin.

"But he's gained himself speed." Wells offered with a small smile. "A Fire Drake isn't normally much on the wing, not compared to a Wind Dragon."

Sir Meinhardt pulled his dragon into a tight bank along the edge of the cliffs. Well trained too, it was clear in the fluidity of their combined motions, each reading the other perfectly. Drake trusting rider to point the way, and rider trusting drake to get them there, unlike some new recruits who tried to force the Dragon to fly exactly as they pleased. It left Meinhardt plenty free to concentrate his attention on the hanging clay targets.

"You're right, this one might be interesting." Wells decided.

Miss Luttece looked on, displeased.

The horn calls raced ahead of the Dragon Knight and his mount, as each was sounded, the balloon men released their charges into the air, each hung with a clay target swinging on the end of a rope.

Hitting the targets at speed would have been challenging enough in clear skies, doing so while the balloons and target was buffeted by the edge winds, and without being knocked into the abyss or dashed against the cliff face made the task nearly impossible. Which was the point.

"Fifth target." Miss Luttece reported as Sir Meinhardt approached the spinning balloon and the red clay bull's eye that hung below. These were smaller than the standard targets, less than half a mail across to account for the challenge of hitting a moving Faerie. Chances were that at that speed it would throw off his aim.

One moment the target was there, the next there was a -pop- as the clay was blown apart by a pinpoint heat lance. A horn call was raised by the balloon men to confirm a successful hit.

"Well, well." Wells felt his mood improving. This one had succeeded on his first attempt, even missing the first four by choice, that was impressive.

"Just luck." Miss Luttece insisted with an air of certainty that was shattered a moment later as the sixth, seventh, and eight targets were shattered with their accompanying trumpet calls.

Wells glanced over. "Luck was it?"

The secretary fell silent, burying her nose deeply in her clipboard and marking down notes with a piece of pencil. "Meinhardt . . . the name is of Germanian origin, is it not?"

Wells felt his brow rise. "What of it?"

"Merely an observation." Miss Luttece answered as they watched on in silence.

Nine and ten were taken together by a single well-timed lance. Wells would have given points for it if not for the fact that it had been a needless act of showmanship. Number eleven was missed as the fire mage overshot before recovered his momentum with twelves through seventeen, missing eighteen, and scoring on nineteen and twenty.

"Time?"

"Two minutes, forty seconds, fourteen out of twenty." Luttece adjust her spectacles again. "I suppose you'll want this one?"

"He's the best we've seen so far." Wells said, stroking his chin as drake and rider tightly circled around the finish marker before diving low for a landing.

"He's rash." Miss Luttece corrected. "Rashness shouldn't be rewarded so easily."

Leaning against the tower railing, Wells let out a low breath. "Maybe, but talent shouldn't be ignored either. Besides, all of the more senior candidates have been head hunted." The Central and Southern squadrons had been pulling in ever favor they had to get experienced Knights for their own air wings, leaving Wells to pick through the remainder. It was a good break to find a diamond in the ruff.

"He has quite the disciplinary history." The secretary added.

"That's something that can be fixed." Wells answered, most likely anyways. "Next?"

"Ensign Sir Richard Holland." Miss Luttece reported. "Formerly of the Eighth Squadron, recently recovered from injuries sustained as the battle of Newcastle. Pure wind mage of line class."

The horn called again, and the next drake dropped free at the beginning of the path. Dragon and rider were a far cry from the previous showing.

Sir Wells frowned and even Miss Luttece grimaced. Everything that Sir Meinhardt had done right about dragon riding, Sir Holland seemed devoted to doing wrong. Dragon bucking to and fro beneath him, the young Knight would have been thrown from his saddle if not for his straps. But he clung on, for dear life if nothing else.

First balloon up, a clean miss.

Second balloon, a hit, if Wells was being charitable, he'd at least managed to graze it.

Third balloon was a solid hit, as was forth.

"He'd make a fine Dullahan rider." Wells thought aloud. His aim was impressive at least, given that he'd managed partial success while being tossed all about like so. "What the blazes is he doing in the dragon Knights?"

"An elder brother is a member of the Second Squadron." Miss Luttece supplied. "Sir Holland was forwarded from the Dragoon Trainees to the Eighth Squadron three months ago. Prior to that, he was to be transferred to Ground Mage Cavalry, but with the short-handedness his request to serve in the aerial cavalry was approved."

Wells sighed. It wasn't the first time this problem had reared its ugly head, and it wouldn't be the last. "He wouldn't be half bad if he could fly straight."

"A temperamental mount." Miss Luttece shrugged again, voice growing displeased. "It's all that can be expected of a stupid lizard."

Wells quirked a brow. "Isn't that a little contemptuous of you?"

"Not at all?" Miss Luttece answered. "They are stupid lizards. The fact that a human can ride one that does not wish to be ridden proves that fact."

Very well, Wells decided. Her eccentricities aside, he wasn't about to argue the finer points of dragon riding with a woman who'd never taken the reigns herself.

Surprisingly, the young Ensign's aim proved not to be a fluke as his subsequent shots proved with each shattered target. Somehow he made it to the end without killing himself and the final tally was given. "Time, five minutes twelves seconds, targets hit seventeen out of twenty." Miss Luttece looked up from her clipboard. "I like him. He has potential."

"But is that what the Captain would say?" Wells looked down to where the other recruits were helping the boy from his mount. Once he was off, Sir Holland promptly began to wretch up his breakfast.

'Airsickness?'

This was the best that they could hope to gather, and now Sir Wells had the distinction of having to choose from among them. Best to get this over with quickly. "Those were the last of the candidates, weren't they? Let's . . ."

"One more." Miss Luttece contradicted, pointing back to the cliff face.

Wells' frown deepened. "What is this?" He reached to grab for Miss Luttece's clipboard. "There were only twenty on the list."

"Well then, this one was added late." The secretary yanked the board back from him, reading the name on the last sheet. "He's . . ." She stopped and reread the name several times, eyes narrowed unhappily.

"What is it this time?" Sir Wells wanted to ask, but before he had any chance to hear the reply, the horn was sounded again and the last candidate launched like a dart into the open sky.

Wells had only one thought on his mind as wings unfurled and he got his first impression of the last rider. 'He's fast.' Just riding a wind dragon like that wouldn't account for the speed alone, and he hadn't made to dive the way that Sir Meinhardt had.

Curious, Wells drew his wand and conjured up a lens to view from afar and got his first hint of what was happening. Crouched low in the saddle, head pressed against his mount's neck, the rider had his sword-wand drawn and pointed behind him, the metal surface glittering in refracted light. "Boosting his mount with magic."

Miss Luttece said tersely. "I presume you disapprove?"

"He can't attack like that." Sir Wells noted. And only the best bred Wind Dragons, like Sir Dunwell's Scirroco, could breathe fire. So. What was his plan?

Instead of replying, Miss Luttece simply went back to her clipboard. "First target."

The Wind Drake was on the approach now, moving fast and dangerously close to the cliff edge on a near straight path for the bullseye. 'Get too close and you'll get tangled.' Wells thought. 'Get tangled, and you'll die.' Or so he still thought as the distance closed, and closed, the rider sitting up in his seat and at the last moment reaching for something holstered at his side.

A silvered flash, the first target shattered as it was overtaken, the Wind Dragon barely slowing as it dove for targets two and three and shattered both at once.

"What was that?" Sir Wells squinted, and then understood, resting in his saddle, the rider had drawn a second sword, and as Wells watched, he crossed both blades before him in preparation to cast.

"Dual casting." Sir Wells concluded. "But only a line of wind?" Controlling more than one spell at a time was the sole domain of a seasoned square of the elements.

"It's not proper dual casting." Miss Luttece answered as she followed along at his side. "Channeling the spell through two foci, but not changing its nature between them. It's impressive, but not without precedent."

Targets four through nine suffered the same fates before target ten and eleven were missed as the rider overshot. Watching closely, Wells could see them fighting off the urge to double back. So, a perfectionist.

"How did I not hear of this one?" Sir Wells wanted to know.

"Seconded directly from the Dragoons." Miss Luttece answered.

Sir Wells scowled at that detail. "I thought it was made plain that we only wanted men with Experience ighting the Faeries?" They were hard enough pressed as it was without having to babysit the unblooded. That said . . . Targets fourteen and fifteen were destroyed at the same time . . . That sort of skill could be very easily polished, he'd be a fool to pass it up.

The final target was shattered, the completion horn was blown.

"Time, three minutes five second, seventeen out of twenty." Miss Luttece reported before looking up with green eyes. "Shall we retire to the castle to make the final selections?"

Wells looked down to where the last candidate was sliding from his mount, eagerly accepting pats on the back and flasks from the others as they congratulated him for his showing. The real sign of a wartime Squadron where the man who out flew you might save your life some day.

"No. I think I've already decided." Wells said simply. He couldn't fill the roster with the ones here, but at least six showed potential. He was glad he'd stayed to see it through to the end.

The climb down from the watch tower and the walk to the field gave Wells time to finalize the decisions in his mind. He requested the clipboard from Miss Luttece and began calling off names. "Sir Richard Meinhardt?"

For the first time he got a close look at the new recruits, one in particular standing half a head taller than the mousy haired boy beside him. Blonde, slender, and with an air of bravado about him. If Meinhardt was of Germanian stock, then the blood ran strong in him indeed.

"Sir!" The Ensign stood stock straight, watching with dark blue eyes as Wells stalked closer in the company of Miss Luttece. The other recruits were watching too, waiting to face judgment.

"You look pretty smug Sir Meinhardt." Sir Wells appraised the younger man. He spoke with some experience, smugness was the natural state of most cavalrymen, and Wells shamelessly knew he was no exception.

"Can't help myself, Sir." The Knight said with a perfectly straight expression. "Born this way, Sir."

Wells stared, Meinhardt kept his gaze level on the horizon. That was the way it was going to be. He could work with that. "It'll be fun breaking you Ensign, you're in."

"Aye Sir!" Meinhardt barked. "Thank you, Sir!"

"Sir Holland." Wells read the next name and found that it belonged to the mousy boy who'd been standing beside Meinhardt. Seeing him standing stock straight, trembling so softly that he looked like he'd fall over a in a stiff breeze, Sir Wells almost had to check again. "You are Sir Holland?"

"Y-yes Sir!" The boy barked, committing his fist to his chest. "Ensign Sir Richard Holland, Sir!"

"Well then . . ." Sir Wells almost resigned his decision, but appearances could be deceiving. "You're in too."

"S-Sir!" The boy's eyes widened. "Are you certain Sir? I mean I . . ."

"Are you questioning my decision, Ensign?" Sir Wells growled. Not that that boy shouldn't doubt himself, but best he got it through his head that a superior's orders were absolute. There would be no more hiding behind his mother's skirts.

"I'm honored Sir." Sir Holland bowed his head. "Simply surprised."

"Don't be." Sir Wells supplied coolly. "Your score was not terrible. More importantly, you made your best showing of potential back at Newcastle."

The mention of that ugly battle caused the boy to cringe. "Sir?"

"First, of the twenty members of the Eighth Squadron, you and Sir Meinhardt were both among the new recruits who faced Faeries first hand." Wells read over the report once more in his mind. Maybe he was giving the boy too much credit, but he'd learn fast or he'd wash out. "Second, of the ten trainees who engaged directly with the Faeries in Aerial battle, you and Sir Meinhardt are the only two who survived." Sir Wells gave the young man a solid pat on the shoulder as he went pale. "Welcome to the Fourth Squadron."

Now, where was . . . There.

He wasn't hard to find, still beside his dragon, gently stroking the monstrous beast's snout as he whispered comfortingly into the side of its neck.

"You." Sir Wells said, not caring how ridiculous it sounded to address a cavalryman as such, reading the name off the clipboard, he had a hard time making out the scrawled handwriting of whoever had completed the transfer form.

"Dragoon!" Wells used the common form for an un-knighted Air Cavalryman.

In any case, the problem was solved for him, the young man turning to look at Wells as he neared through the mulling crowd of recruits. First impressions, up close, he was not what Wells would have expected. He was pale for one, and small, features still soft and boyish. Raven hair cut short and feathered messily about his head. A pair of clear blue eyes met with Wells' own.

At his side, Sir Wells did not notice Miss Luttece coming to a halt, or the way her nostrils flared suspiciously as she eyed the young man. He was much too occupied with getting his blasted name.

"That was you on the last run, Aye?" Wells asked.

"Aye Sir." The boy said calmly.

"Seconding from the Dragoons." Sir Wells made special note of the cutlass style sword-wands hanging from their scabbards. Armsmen weapons used for the assault, an unusual style to say the least. Self-taught? He wondered. Again, it was impressive, but the lad would have been better served concentrating on a more conventional style. "So you think you have it in you?"

He'd expected a false show of confidence, or maybe even a little arrogance. Instead the young Dragoon simply stood at attention and replied with calm honesty. "I'd like to try Sir."

Wells gave him a hard look and then shrugged. They could use all the talent they could get. "Name? I can hardly induct you into the squadron without a name."

"Aye." The boy spoke with a sudden exhalation of breathe as if he hadn't been at all confident he'd be asked. "That one's easy Sir." He said in a thick Southern Albionian accent. "Name's Blair Trayvor, Sir."


	9. Chapter 2 Part 2: Politics of Pregnancy

Halkegenia Online v3.0 – Chapter 2 – Part 2

Though it was a hollow comfort, Morgiana tried to tell herself that things could have been worse. Not much worse, but still . . .

"You're what?!"

Eugene's head whipped around, face blanching as much as his complexion would allow. Fighting dragons, mages, and every species of mob under the sun, it wasn't a look that graced the big guy often.

Of all the ways she'd imagined telling him, this wasn't one of them, standing side by side in front of the gathered Lords and representatives of the Faerie Council, like a pair of high school students caught making out in the gym. When she'd come to Mort and Sakuya for help, she'd been hoping they would be a little more discreet, but events had sort of forced their hand.

This wasn't just about her and Eugene anymore, unfortunately, she managed, without trying, to make it something worse.

"Pregnant." Morgiana said tersely. "So yeah, it's yours."

That seemed to shut him up, and shut him down. General Eugene, stoic commander of the Salamanders and master of the demonic sword Gram flapped his lips stupidly as he tried to come up with a reply.

What the hell else could she say? She'd had a week to think of something, and this was the best she could do. She was pregnant, and if everything worked like it _should_, in another six or seven months, she was going to be giving birth to their child.

A child. Even thinking about it was terrifying, a whole little person that she would be entirely responsible for. Morgiana had fought Dragon Knights and stared into cannon fire, and she'd been scared senseless, but this was on a whole new level.

The mood of the council chamber was somber, more so than usual. Mortimer and Sakuya hadn't stopped at recalling Eugene, they'd brought in all of the Lords for this, the first time they'd all been in the same room at once since finding out that their summoning to this world had been caused by an unassuming little Pinkette.

It just made the whole thing feel more ridiculous, and intimidating, like she was on trial.

The scrutiny from eight pairs of eyes plus Eugene, the looks that ranged from concerned, Sakuya, Thinker, and Alicia Rue, to disdainful, Rute and Zolf, was slowly eating at Morgiana's last nerve. Damn it, she was above giving a damn about what other people thought of her, she'd moved past that, she refused to bow to their opinions.

Finally, Eugene got his tongue working again, but not his brain.

"H-how?!" He stammered, receiving a grimace from his brother and Sakuya. In his defense, he was taking this all remarkably well.

Morgiana couldn't help it, she chuckled under her breath. "Well you know, when a boy and a girl decide to get intimate . . ." Really, he'd seemed _plenty_ experienced when they'd gone through the motions.

"Morgiana, that is enough now." Sakuya said with uncharacteristic softness, for once the Sylph Lord didn't need to bare her fangs for the Lady of the Spriggan's to not just casually brush off. Morgiana froze, her shoulders slumped. Sakuya tucked her hands into her sleeves, lifting her head imperiously. "What is done is done, there is nothing for it but to work with what we've been given. And I am sorry for this, if it were anyone else it could be a private matter, but you two are not anyone else . . . "

It was alright, she hadn't just had this dropped on her, she'd gone along with it by choice.

"Hear Hear." Lord Rute grunted as he fussed over his notes. The old coot was a stick in the mud most of the time, but usually alright once he had a few drinks in him. Right now, he was bone sober. "I don't know what you were thinking, woman. Don't you realize the effect this will have on our reputation with the Nobility? Our business dealings?! You don't just represent yourself, Morgiana!"

"Thinking was sort of taking a back seat at the time." Morgiana answered shortly. She'd screwed up, she didn't need to have that repeated in so many ways. On that night of heated blood and lowered inhibitions, she'd just . . . acted. The same went for Eugene. Chances were, if they'd been just a little less drunk, or had a little more time, they wouldn't have, but that didn't matter now, because they _had_.

Now she had to live with that decision. A hand fell thoughtlessly over her stomach, still firm and flat, but if she was two months along, she could start to show anytime now.

"Aren't you being a little too harsh, Rute-san?" Thinker asked from his seat to the right of the Leprechaun Lord, the Undine Lord a voice of reason along with Sakuya and Mortimer. "We're here to come up with solutions not level blame."

"The blame is easy enough to divvy up in any case." Lord Zolf deigned to speak, deep red eyes pinning Morgiana with a disapproving look. "They are adults, they are equally responsible for their actions." That seemed to be all that the Imp was going to say until he opened his mouth again. "Unfortunately, they also are also both more than just adults or even simply Fae." Zolf's eyes flickered between the Spriggan and Salamander. "Morgiana is First Lord of Muisca and Eugene is Field Commander of the Defense Forces and brother to the First Lord of Gaddan."

Which was the problem, Morgiana thought.

Hers wasn't the first pregnancy, she _definitely _wouldn't be the last, and things being what they were, it was safe to say most of those children wouldn't have been planned on.

But those other women battling with the anxiety of bringing a life into the very dangerous world of Halkegenia _weren't_ Faerie Lords, and that made a difference, as much as Morgiana liked to pretend it didn't.

For better or worse, she was the Lady of the Spriggans, and by dint of that position she retained all of the authority and status of a c_ountess _for so long as she served. She'd tried very hard not to think too much about that until now.

Now, it was kind of a big deal.

Having the status of a countess, she was expected to live up to the _standards_ of a countess. Leading the Kurotaka as a free company in service to the Crown of Tristain, along with her status as a Faerie, had granted her a little leeway as a 'charming eccentric', but that wouldn't keep her out of trouble when people found out she was pregnant with Eugene's child, his bastard, she grimaced, and what hurt her would eventually trickle back to hurt the rest of the Faerie Lords and through them, the rest of the Fae.

That wasn't something she could allow.

"Morgiana-san." Thinker raised his voice, looking down on her kindly from the elevated station of the bench that encircled her and Eugene.

After three months, she still didn't know much about him. Outside of meetings, their paths didn't cross very often. He hadn't been a Lord prior to the Transition, in fact, he'd only been a novice player with very limited playtime under his belt. What he did have going for him was two years of experience in SAO, sort of training wheels for the situation they were in now, and he acted a lot like the practice had sunk in.

He could keep calm under pressure, that was for sure, and he really did try to look out for everyone, sometimes stretching himself a little too thin in the process, lucky he had that classy fiancee to cover for him. The sort of totally honest and earnest guy who was a little boring but rock solid and reliable. Morgiana had found a lot to admire in him.

When Thinker had spoken, everyone had politely stopped to listen. There was an impression among them that it wasn't simply because he was the Undine representative.

"Morgiana-san, have you considered how you're going to move forward as the Spriggan Lord?"

Morgiana nodded once, taking an unusually deep breath. There really was only one thing for it, so far as she could tell. "Look, I talked it over with my seconds in command yesterday . . ."

"You told them?" Sakuya frowned. "We agreed to keep this quiet for now. Morgiana-san, you _know_ how easily rumors about this are going to spread."

"Believe me, I know." Morgiana sighed, and some of her little crows couldn't keep their lips shut to save their lives, but Drake and Shirishi weren't among them, and honestly, she _needed_ them to know. "You told me I should be ready for anything, and I'd rather not have them caught flat footed when this gets out."

"I can't imagine Drake took it well." Mortimer leaned his head against his hand.

"That's one way to put it." Morgiana agreed sheepishly. "He might have also been a little pissed that I'm going to step down."

A wave of muttering spread from one side of the bench to the other, all eight sitting Lords giving her their full attention. Morgiana had been expecting the surprised expressions, she'd even been expecting the small widening of Mortimer's eyes.

"Morgiana." Eugene frowned heavily as he loomed beside her, brow furrowed.

Crossing her arms, she shrugged. "Don't give me that, Gene-kun, I've given this a lot of thought. Valdi would probably love to have his chance in the driver's seat anyway, and now that things are starting to get sorted out, why not let him?"

It had seemed like the right thing to do. The First Lord of Muisca couldn't be with child and _without_ a husband, so she'd just have to stop being First Lord of Muisca. Morgiana thought that would have been the end of it, but apparently this politics thing wasn't quite as simple as that.

"You sure you wanna go through with that?" Alicia Rue peered over the bench like a child at the adult's table.

"It seems the prudent course of action." Zolf looked very diplomatic, all the while glaring at Morgiana. "What are your thoughts, Thinker-san?"

The Undine was slow to reply, which was like him, Morgiana could practically see him measuring out his answer. "The recent triad elections mean that we've ironed out a lot of the bugs with our voting procedure. It wouldn't hurt to do it now while it's still fresh in everyone's mind. If that is what Lady Morgiana wants."

Morgiana nodded again. "It is." It just made sense, it was . . .

"Absolutely unacceptable!" The sound of Sakuya shooting from her seat echoed through the chamber.

It put Rute on edge, had Mortimer and Alicia exchanging glances, and caused Zia and Thinker to cringe. The only one who looked unfazed was the Gnome representative, more of a spokesman for their city council than a proper Lord. Rucks, maybe the only short Gnome in Halkegenia, and also one of the minority of Faeries who looked anything older than a well preserved thirty.

Most of his face was hidden behind a broad white mustache or equally broad, white eyebrows. He was the only one who hadn't spoken this whole time, he'd just taken his seat and politely started listening.

Morgiana blinked owlishly as Sakuya loomed down from on high, the spread wings of the statue of the Goddess Uror hanging over her was a nice touch that Morgiana could only guess had been intentional on the part of the environment designers when they had put the room together.

"What the hell?" Morgiana growled. "I thought you'd agree this was for the best." They were supposed to be on the same side here!

Sakuya took a moment to let the air clear and to gather everyone's attention. "It's tempting to think that stepping down will solve the problem, but I'm afraid it's not going to be anything close to that simple Morgiana."

"What's difficult to understand about it?" Morgiana grumbled back. "A Faerie Lord can't afford this sort of scandal with the Nobility, so I resign and deal with it on my own, I'll figure things out." She spared a worried glance to Eugene, the big guy looked like he wanted to say something, but he was good at keeping quiet and waiting his turn. "Either way it won't be a problem for you guys."

"I'm afraid it'll be a very big problem for us." Sakuya corrected emphatically as she returned to her seat. "Morgiana, you are the _First _First Lord of Muisca, that means a lot, especially now." The Sylph put her hands together, almost lecturing. "What each of us does is going to set precedent and color perceptions of the Fae Council, the Faerie Court, as a whole. We have our supporters in the Nobility, and our enemies, but the majority aren't really in either camp right now. Instead, they're watching us and deciding."

"Exactly!" Morgiana threw her hands up. "I'd really like to not be the person who trashes our reputation please!"

"It may be too late for that." Lord Zolf muttered under his breath to sharp glares from both Thinker and Alicia.

"It's not that simple, Morgiana." Mortimer said next. "You weren't the only one making arrangements after you left, Sakuya and I discussed this at length last night."

Probably over an impressive amount of booze, Morgiana filled in the blanks, it was what she'd be doing, if not for the life growing inside of her. Which reminded her, no more drinking, right when she needed it the most.

"We can't afford to send the message that a Faerie Lord would have a child out of wedlock. We also can't send the message that a Lord can simply step down on short notice. The Nobility of Tristain are used to dealing in personal political alliances and relationships that last for entire lifetimes . . ."

"Excuse me, Mortimer-san." Thinker raised his hand. "I don't mean to interrupt but we're all elected in the end." The Undine observed.

"That is different, the election of New Lords is something that the Nobility will accept, grudgingly." Sakuya answered back. "Service by appointment isn't a new concept. It is a constant that they can plan around. We're very fortunate that the Queen has been so tolerant with us hosting the elections on such short notice. A Lord simply stepping down almost certainly won't be tolerated so easily."

Sakuya's eyes hardened, almost more like Mortimer than herself. "You are a Noblewoman, Morgiana-san. I don't mean to sound so dramatic, but you must serve until you are dismissed, or you die. Doing otherwise will send the message that we are unreliable allies who will wash our hands of our pledges at the first opportunity."

The holier than though attitude, more than anything, was starting to piss Morgiana off. Maybe Shirishi was right, maybe she _was_ hormonal, it'd explain a lot. "Then what do you want me to do?" She spat out. "You're saying I can't resign because that'll cause a diplomatic incident, and I can't stay the Lord of the Spriggan's because _that_ will cause a diplomatic incident." Morgiana's hands fell to her sides. "I'm out of ideas. What else can I do?"

Mortimer and Sakuya traded looks again. Morgiana's eyes narrowed, they were working together, that wasn't a good sign, a pair of schemers those two.

"We think we might have an idea about that." Sakuya said, expression pensive.

"Well?" Morgiana looked on impatiently. "I'm all ears." The rest of the Lords were eager too, leaning in to listen.

She'd have thought that after admitting that they had an idea, Sakuya would be a bit more eager to explain, instead, she started fidgeting. "You're not going to like it, Morgiana."

Morgiana glanced over to Mortimer.

"The answer to that is . . ." Mortimer began, pinching the bridge of his nose " . . . _Problematic." _

"I'll just say it." Sakuya spoke bluntly. "You two are going to have to get married." Green eyes shifted between the Salamander General and the Spriggan Lord. "Morgiana?"

"Come again?" Morgiana picked at her ears. "I must have missed that. It sounded an awful lot like you just said we were going to have to get _married_." She _had_ to have misheard because there was no way in hell Sakuya was suggesting . . . Funny that Eugene seemed to have misheard too.

"B-Brother!" The big man took a full step forward, nearly level with his brother who sat elevated behind the horseshoe shaped bench.

"We've discussed it at length, and given Sakuya's talks with Queen Henrietta on past matters, it's what has to be done." Mortimer said solemnly, closing his eyes as if in meditation. "Both of your reputations depend on it. Sakuya-san can explain better, but these sorts of things weren't uncommon in our own past and are still quite common in Tristain. We can simply claim that you two became engaged prior to Dunkirk and perhaps were a little over eager upon your return. It will be remarked upon, of course, but only as a minor scandal, and I've been assured it is bad form to make too much of such things lest one's own family have use of the conceit."

That didn't seem to be nearly good enough for Eugene. "But . . . !"

"Little Brother." Mortimer began in a soft spoken and not at all severe voice. So soft in fact that Morgiana had to think for the right word to describe it. 'Tender'.

Eugene stopped in his tracks, bowing his head down like a big kid who'd been caught at mischief. "You know that I have never done anything but look out for your best interests." Mortimer breathed softly. "You are my precious younger brother and I will now and always love you as my blood. I would endure any hardship for you."

Everyone in the room was staring at Mortimer, most simply in awe that he was _capable_ of something so heartfelt, a few, like Alicia, trying to hold in a titanic guffaw.

"But I can't shelter you from your own mistakes." Mortimer looked up, and suddenly the softness was replaced by a forcefulness that Morgiana was sure nobody in the room save Eugene had ever heard before. The big Salamander cringed away like a child threatened with a switch as Mortimer's bloody eyes bored straight into him.

"In short, you knocked a girl up." The Lord of the Salamanders growled,as the emotionless front evaporated for one moment. "Take responsibility for your actions god damn it!"

Eugene just stood there like a tree caught in a monsoon, shuddering in near terror as he slowly turned to face her, violet eyes pleading with her. "M-Morgiana? I think . . . Brother really wants this to happen. Morgiana?"

Marry him?

Marry?!

It wasn't like she was afraid of marriage, right? She couldn't be, that was something that every girl was supposed to dream about. The wedding industry practically started programming it in to girls before they could walk and talk and Momoko was no exception. The pretty white dress, the church, the benches full of friends and family, well, friends anyways.

Morgiana couldn't stop clenching and un-clenching her fists as she started to find it intensely difficult to breath. What was wrong with her? That . . . that was just the way things worked. She _knew_ that, so why was it driving her so up the wall? It was something Momoko had planned for all her life, had wanted at some point, so why not now?

And if she did it, it could only be good for her kid and the rest of them. It wasn't like she hated Eugene either, if she did, they wouldn't be in this mess.

Win-win, right?

Morgiana turned her head, Eugene was standing there, stock still and doing his best to regain his stoic demeanor. But did she want it with him? Tall, dark, handsome, and good in a fight. Someone who had her back and who was fun to mess around with, that had been enough right? But it wasn't nearly enough to marry him, to have a baby with him!

"Will this really work?" Rute asked, he looked less than convinced, though Morgiana didn't notice, she was too busy trying to breathe.

"We need to strike while the iron is hot." Mortimer answered back. "It would be best if arrangements can be made within a week's time. If it can be kept small, that would arouse less suspicion."

Rute exchanged a few brief words with Thinker, murmured so low that Morgiana couldn't have heard even if she'd wanted to.

"Once we set a date, we at least need to invite a few members of the Nobility to attend." Sakuya added quickly. "We'll need to afford every bit of legitimacy we can."

'Hold on here.' Morgiana thought. Wasn't she supposed to have a say? This was her future that was getting planned around her. Wasn't she going to speak up for herself? Lips dry and numb, tongue fat, refusing to move.

"Leave smoozing the Nobility to me." Alicia chimed in merrily. "I think I've got the hang of keeping these guys buttered up."

Everyone talking, planning, arguing all around her. And still, Morgiana was silent. She didn't have to say a thing. Her future was being decided for her, all she needed was to close her eyes and go with it. All she had to do was what she was _told_. And she hated it, worse, she hated herself.

'I'm not that person. I'm _NOT_.' She'd worked so hard for years to not to be that person. Not being that person was her proudest achievement, even if it was hard sometimes.

"Morgiana? Morgiana are you listening?" She looked up at the sound of Sakuya's voice and then realized the room was quiet, and for the first time she saw that the Gnome representative was looking to her with dark brown eyes. "Rucks-san was just asking well . . ." The Gnome raised his hand to speak for himself.

"Just seems to me it ain't right to be going to all this trouble till we hear your end of it." The Gnome said in a heavy Osaka accent that Morgiana was almost certain had to be fake. "Seeing as it's your life we're proposing to muck around with. How are you feeling about all this?"

Feeling? Morgiana wondered.

The others were looking at her again, waiting for her answer.

She was feeling . . .

Morgiana licked her lips. "I . . ."

She was . . .

"That is . . ."

She . . .

"Uhm . . ."

She just wanted to float away. A hand came down on her shoulder, heavy but firm, forcing her to stay put and to stay calm. It was like someone had put a fixed point right there beside her and when she looked up, she saw Eugene looking down.

"I think Morgiana and I need a little time." Eugene rumbled before anyone could say a word. "Brother, this is very sudden. Can we just have until tomorrow to sort this out?"

Mortimer conferred with Sakuya, looked back to his brother, and then returned to whatever he was saying with the Sylph. Those two were entirely too good together. His answer came in the form of a small nod. "Please, take until tomorrow if you like. Both of you. I know this is a lot to ask. If this were anywhere else or you two were _anyone_ else, it would be different, but please remember that your actions will have consequences beyond yourselves."

"Regardless of what you decide." Sakuya said. "We only want what is best for everyone. We'll help however we can, whatever you decide, Morgiana-san, Eugene-san."

"Then let's have a little recess." Alicia suggested. "The air in here needs to clear anyways, and there are a few other things on the agenda . . ."

Morgiana didn't catch the rest as she was lead out into the tower atrium and the sweet, fresh air that was wafting through the open doors to the landing deck. Just getting out of that room made it easier to breathe, just getting away from the eyes helped her to forget the sense of paralysis.

"Morgiana? Are you alright?" Eugene was right beside her.

'Damn it, I don't want him to see me like this. I'm not . . . fragile . . .'

She pulled away while staying silent, lengthening her stride towards the door. "I'm fine." She said a little more sharply than she'd really meant.

"Are you sure?" Eugene was keeping up right beside her, hovering over her, and it was putting her on edge. She didn't need to be coddled!

"Oh, I'm sure." She snapped back. "I went to Sakuya and Mort for help and then they grilled me in front of a room full of Lords." Real fun that had been. "Then I'm told I've got to get hitched because you knocked me up." She laughed harshly. "But don't sweat it, it's no big deal really!"

Eugene grabbed her by the shoulder again, turning her around and waiting for her to look him in the eye. "You're lying." He said firmly, brows furrowing as if he could somehow figure out why that may be. "What my brother and Sakuya said upset you."

"Brilliant deduction, Gene-kun." Morgiana breathed. "I'm so glad you can just go along with whatever your brother wants."

"Morgiana!" Eugene looked like she'd just slapped him.

"You can't tell me you're okay with this!" She raised her voice, a few passersby spared them looks, right up until they realized who they were looking at and were promptly scared off. Lowering her voice so that she wouldn't be overheard she went on. "Your brother just told you to _marry _me. This is a big deal and you're just going to go with it?"

No way in hell, and even if he did, Morgiana looked him in the eye, he wouldn't be the man she thought he was.

Just who was he anyway? It was easy to brush off when they'd just been messing around, that wasn't true anymore.

"No." He asserted firmly. "I would marry you because it's the right thing to do. My brother doesn't have anything to do with that." Eugene looked uncertain before coming to a decision. "Morgiana, if you don't want this, I understand, I'll speak to Mortimer and Sakuya about it."

He'd do that? No, stupid question, of course he would, Morgiana bit her lip, and then things would be an even bigger mess. The truth was, Sakuya and Mortimer were probably right. There were dozens of reasons, good reasons, why she should do it. So why couldn't she just say that?

"It's all just a lot to take in." Eugene rumbled as he took her by the shoulders. "A child? Our child?" His eyes were shining, that look that people got when they started to hope again. "Is this for real?"

Morgiana snorted softly. "Don't kid yourself, I wouldn't go this far for a bad joke."

"You've known for more than a week." Eugene mumbled. "Why didn't you tell me sooner?"

He was sure to ask that, wasn't he? "Well, you know, I've been busy . . ." _I've been scared out of my mind_. "I've got plenty of other kids who need looking after." _I didn't want to think about this._ "And I didn't know how to tell you." _I was afraid to tell you._

"You could have sent for me." Eugene pressed her. "This is just . . . I'm going to be a father." He started to chuckle. "I can't believe this, this is . . . this is incredible. We're going to be parents." Saying it that way, with that eager look, Morgiana could almost have forgotten what it all meant. He was just that crazy kind of guy. Then she remembered where they were and how insane it was to be happy about bringing a life into this world, that crazy wasn't actually a _good_ thing.

"Stop saying stuff like that!" Morgiana yanked free of his grasp, stepping out of his reach, the move left Eugene as dumbstruck as before. "Stop saying this like it can be alright!" It was as far from alright as things could get. "Do you think I'm ready for this?" She wasn't.

"Of course not." Eugene shook his head. "I already said this is a lot to take in, we just need to work this out as best we can." He said solemnly. "This is . . . this is something that we both have a hand in. I won't let it turn bad for you or the child, Morgiana, I swear."

"I know, and I believe you. That's not the problem." He'd say something like that, for him, it was easy, Morgiana thought, but for her . . . "Look, Eugene, I don't want my . . . my _child_ to grow up in a home without a loving family. I've seen what that does." She squeezed her eyes shut, gathering up the courage for what she had to say.

"Morgiana . . ."

But it had to be said, because anything else would be unfair to him, because she admired the man in front of her, and thought well of him, and trusted him, but . . .

"Eugene . . . I don't . . . love you."


	10. Chapter 2 Part 3: Clear Water, Milkshake

Halkegenia Online v3.0 – Chapter 2 – Part 3

"Oy, it's hot." The Salamander beside Kirito muttered as he adjusted his straw hat to ward off the afternoon sun. "It's hot!"

Kirigaya Kazuto, Kirito, spared his friend and partner in crime, Tsuboi Ryotaro, the swordsman Klein, a mildly bemused look. "Aren't Salamanders supposed to be good with the heat?"

Klein's reply was a long time in coming, then, "It's humid. It's too damn humid! Lizards aren't any good in this sort of humid weather." He stopped suddenly and leaned in Kirito's direction, a suspicious gleam in his eye.

Kirito was left to lean back or risk getting a little too intimate. "W-what?"

"You're saying I shouldn't be bugged by the heat. How the hell is it," Klein crossed his arms and assumed a meditative pose, "That you can be dressed like _that," _he waved to Kirito's heavy black t-shirt and pants, "And not be frying along with me?"

The Spriggan looked down at his own clothes, it wasn't like he wasn't sweating too, the humidity by the lake _was_ pretty intense today. All Kirito could think was that it was personal discipline and that Klein was exaggerating his discomfort, or maybe the moisture really _was_ getting to him. In ALfheim, hadn't the territories around Muisca been mostly thick jungle? Maybe it was his Spriggan heritage at work.

Whatever it was, it didn't seem to be affecting Yui in the least as the young Maeve held up the silvery bit of metal with its attached bait for Kirito to examine. "Like this, right Papa?" The little girl asked, eagerly waiting for his approval.

Kirito took the tackle and made sure it was tied off as he'd shown her. "It looks good." He agreed, smiling as Yui beamed with pride.

The summer heat had hit the Fae City of Arrun with a speed and oppressiveness that would have once been almost unbelievable to any of its twenty thousand denizens, most familiar as they were with the technological luxuries of air conditioning and refrigeration.

Undines had been in high demand since the heat wave had struck, generating ice to help cool the public buildings and supply a base for the frozen treats that had been exploding in popularity. It was amazing what could be made with just ice shavings, fruit, eggs, and cream. Most of the demand was from the local Faeries of course, but it shouldn't have come as any surprise that the native Halkegenians had become big customers as well.

The concept of the 'Snow Cone' had already existed in Tristain prior to the summoning of the Faeries of ALfheim, but ice cream was an entirely new idea that was being quickly embraced by the Nobility.

'Agil is probably laughing all the way to the bank.'

Kirito frowned as he imagined the giant man who had started making deals with the local farms to secure the closest source of cream, and also with the _Pixies _to get his hands on a number of rare ALfheim fruits that formed the base for a whole line of 'Gourmet' desserts marketed towards Nobles with more money than sense and a burning desire to capitalize on the new 'Ice Cream' product. When last he'd heard, Lord Rute had been looking to invest in a seasonal operation.

Kathy was probably right, Kirito mused, if her husband had been even half as driven in his time on Earth as he had been in Aincrad, or especially here in Halkegenia, they would never have had to log into ALO to find Asuna, Agil would have had the resources to _buy out_ the RETCO subsidiary.

'Scary'. Kirito remembered that toothy smile that could make small children cry.

As for himself, Kirito wasn't nearly as motivated as Agil in this heat, or even Klein who he'd found in the barracks being used as a pack mule by the fiery little support mage, Enya. This was their last day before they had to travel to the capital and report at the Champ de Mars training facility, so he'd wanted to do something special with Yui who would be staying behind again with Suguha in Arrun, where she would be safe.

He had been meaning to teach her to fish.

"Okay now." Kirito took hold of Yui's arms, sitting behind her on the dock that stuck out into the clear blue and still remarkably cold water of Arrun Lake. Father and daughter had kicked off their shoes and their feet now dangled over the calm surface, scaring off the small fish sheltering in the shade. They were after a bigger catch today. "When you cast the line you want it to get good and far out, it's no good if it's too close, since the fish will be scared off by us."

"Un." Yui nodded attentively.

"And be extra careful how you do this part." He warned, remembering a nasty accident on his own first fishing trip with his grandfather, getting the hook caught up on his ear, an ever likelier and potentially more painful accident for a Faerie.

They took a few practice swings, Kirito guiding Yui through the motions, and then, once he was satisfied, he withdrew his hands and let his daughter do the rest.

Yui's eyes went wide with delight as her tackle flew out in a shallow arc and splashed down in the water. She almost forgot to grab the line before it unspooled too far, but Kirito didn't have to intervene, remembering in time and doing it just as he'd shown her.

"Oy, way to put your shoulder into it!" Klein laughed, reeling his own line in a little so that the two lures wouldn't get tangled.

"You're going to scare off the fish, Klein." Kirito grumbled, but he admired Yui's handiwork nonetheless, not bad for a first try.

"Now what?" Yui asked expectantly, looking up from beneath his chin.

"Now," Kirito closed his eyes, "We wait."

Yui nodded sagely and turned back to her fishing rod. And so they waited. And then waited some more.

This was the tough part for kids, Kirito knew, and just as expected, it wasn't long before Yui began to fidget and pluck at the line.

"You just have to wait." Kirito repeated patiently.

"Mmmm . . ." Yui's features scrunched up cutely. "How much longer?"

"Well, that depends, Yui-chan." Klein reeled his line in and recast.

"On what?"

"The fish." Kirito said, and grinned as he enjoyed his daughter's scowl. "You just have to . . ."

"Wait." Klein finished.

It would be unfair to say Yui looked happy about this development, Kirito supposed he should have let her read up a little more beforehand, but he had told her what to expect.

"Fishing is about patience." Kirito said, picking up his daughter's sunhat and planting it firmly on her head. "It's a chance to just sit back for a little while and let the world pass you by. Sometimes that's difficult to do on its own, but even the busiest person can learn to fish." It was a philosophy that Kirito firmly believed in and couldn't help but convey the importance of to his own daughter.

Yui listened until he was finished, nodding slowly, and then replying seriously. "It sounds like you're making an excuse to be lazy, Papa."

Kirito's smile developed the smallest of cracks. So judgmental!

"That's not . . ." Kirito began to say, only to freeze, instincts snapping him to full alertness as he felt the deck planks creak at his back, and then the cool as a shadow suddenly loomed over him. Kirito's hand reached reflexively for a sword, only to find the cork handle of the fishing pole he'd borrowed from Old Man Nishida.

He'd almost forgotten, Arrun Lake was safe along this side of the shore, and between the frequent passersby, their proximity to the city, and the presence of himself and Klein, it hadn't seemed necessary to bring a weapon.

It probably wasn't necessary now either, just old habits trying to keep him safe, or at least, that's what he thought until he looked up, and up, and up . . . "Uh?" And then blanched as he was met by a pair of intensely violet eyes beneath thick eyebrows. "Wuh!"

Kirito felt himself swallow, he recognized him instantly, General Eugene would have been impossible to mistake for anyone else, a massive man who was nearly as broad across the shoulders as most Gnomes. It was also impossible to mistake the hard set of his features as being even remotely welcoming or friendly.

Kirito's eyes performed a quick check, appraising the Threat Level. The Gigantic Salamander wasn't wearing his armor today, instead opting for a blood red shirt that was pulled tight across a heavily muscled upper body, and khaki pants that were tucked into a solid pair of leather boots. If this was what he considered 'casual' clothes, then they still made him look like an off duty soldier, or maybe an American action hero from those old turn of the century films.

Then, Kirito's heart sped up as he spied the strap running diagonally from shoulder to hip and the long hilt of a brutal and unpleasantly familiar executioner's sword. He was in the middle of devising a way to utilize fishing poles in place of proper swords when Eugene at last spoke.

"Kirito-san." He nodded slowly. "Deputy Squad Commander." He added as he eyed Klein.

"S-Sir!" The shorter Salamander shot to his feet with the closest thing Kirito had ever seen to a smart salute, well, smart for Klein. "General Eugene, Sir!"

"As you were." Eugene rumbled, sparing Klein only a brief glance before looking back to Kirito with that same terrifying expression. Kirito felt Yui squirming in his arms as she peered up along with him.

"Nnnn?" Yui tiled her head, mystified, and drawing Eugene's attention.

The General gazed down at her quietly, and then, squatting down on his haunches so that he only towered over the seated Kirito instead of dominating the sky above him, Eugene's dark features broke out in what Kirito though was an effort at a friendly smile, but like Agil's attempts, Kirito was pretty sure it would do more to scare small children away than to make them think that he was their friend.

Eugene had to know that too, but he appeared dead set on moving forward in spite of it. "Hello Yui-chan, I hope you're doing well today."

Yui blinked slowly, eyes utterly blank as she processed this Unexpected Scenario and then decided on a course of action. Yui smiled back and nodded confidently. "Un! Papa is teaching me how to fish." She crossed her arms wisely. "But really, I learned that he just likes not having to do any work. Are you here to fish too, Eugene-san?"

"Hmm." The commander of the Defense Forces looked out over the lake for what felt like a long time before shaking his head. "It would be nice, but that's not what I'm here for today. If it's alright, I need to borrow your 'Papa' for a little while."

"Oh?" Yui tilted her head, and then. "Oh."

He needed to be borrowed? Kirito grimaced, whatever it was, it couldn't be good. Memory of what he'd heard Lord Mortimer say about his brother's lust for combat, and also his reputation at the Battle of York, was enough to make him a little anxious. He couldn't really want a rematch, could he?

Even with training swords, Kirito had seen some of the practice duels between other Faeries, some of the injuries made Suguha's strike to his head look like small stuff.

"Uhm, if this is about the Yggdrasil Knights . . ." Kirito started. It would just have to wait until tomorrow, he'd earned that much, at least.

"Papa." Yui asked for his attention, turning to look down, he was confronted by dark, worried eyes. "I think you should go listen to Eugene-san."

"Oh?" Kirito frowned, did Yui know something he didn't, or had she simply sensed something?

"I don't think Gene-san came to pick a fight." Yui answered his unasked question with complete confidence.

The General's violet eyes widened. "Right." He said deeply as he reached down to grab hold of Kirito, lifting the smaller Spriggan like a kitten by the scruff of his neck. "If it's alright then, I'll be borrowing him for just a short while."

"But . . ." Kirito tried to say.

"Un." Yui nodded again. "Just take good care of him Eugene-san!"

Eugene started to turn, swinging Kirito like a sack of rice, and then stopped, "Deputy Squad Commander."

"Sir!" Klein, who had remained at attention the entire time barked. "Keep a close eye on Yui-chan for Kirito-san until we get back."

"Yes Sir!" Klein saluted again, only Kirito saw him sag as Eugene turned fully to depart, watching helplessly as the dock receded behind them, reaching out one last time for what could never be and Yui waving happily goodbye, Kirito accepted defeat. He really hoped this wouldn't take too long. Then again, how could it? What sort of problems could someone like Eugene possibly have?

* * *

><p>"Here you are, Miss!" The Undine girl behind the counter pressed two mugs into Asuna's hands and politely gestured for her to move away so that she could attend to the next guest pushing up from behind, a red faced Undine slapping down a pair of coins as he all but demanded a large ice tea.<p>

'Some people really can't take the heat.' Asuna observed as she tested her order, taking a small sip from the straw and savoring the cool, cream sweetness that played over her tongue. She wondered if it was another sign of the racial traits that had been developing among the varied Faerie races, or simply the natural consequences of the heat. Given the weather, it could really be either way.

Threading among the tables and chairs that had been set up near one of the arcade Kiosks, Asuna was able to pick out snatches of conversation.

"What did you call this confection again, Kruznev?" A broad and generously bellied nobleman who was practically spilling out of his chair asked his Leprechaun partner.

"It's a triple scoop ice cream."

The Noblemen poked at his dish with a look of interest in his eyes. "I do believe it would be wise to talk to the fellows who came up with this."

"Oh? I thought you said you were only in the market of _durable_ goods, Hiram?"

"Then perhaps it's time to expand my markets!"

At least it was cool down here. The Arrun Underground Shopping Arcade, set into the basement of Arrun tower, was like an oasis from the heat on the streets above, crammed full of people taking refuge from the noon day sun, and indulging in some of the latest products designed to gobble up hard earned money, like the strawberry milkshake she was drinking right now while offering the second glass to a visibly wilted Lizbeth.

The Leprechaun drew down greedily on her drink, causing the level of the ice cream snack to drop precipitously before she drew back to gasp. "I feel alive again!"

Asuna smiled, and tried not to laugh too hard as Liz leaned back in her chair. "Anyways, thanks a lot for this. Can you believe she sent me all the way to Arrun to buy her Rare Earths? And she expects me to haul it all back on my own!" Liz fanned at her face and neck, livid all the way down her neck. "She's really a slave driver!"

"It can't be _that _bad." Asuna said politely, she knew that Liz was mostly complaining about nothing, and that she really did respect the smith that she was working with. Tilting her head as she thought about what she'd just been told. "Rare Earths?"

"Super rare elements." Liz explained. "Not all of ALfheim's crafting materials are fantasy metals that didn't exist on Earth, some of them were just super rare and expensive. The Gnomes mine them in the bottom galleries of Tau Tona, and there are a few other veins in the Deep Corridors. You can probably guess by the names that they're super hard to come by. Most weren't even known about until at least the nineteenth or twentieth centuries." Liz stretched her arms across the granite tabletop of the small table they had occupied in a corner of the cavernous arcade foyer. "We used some in the strengthening and for the final surface treatments on your Queen Mab."

Taking another sip from her drink, that made sense, but at the same time left Asuna with only more questions. "If they're normal elements, couldn't you just have an Earth Mage or an Alchemist make them?"

Liz's answer came in the form of a vague wave of her hand she pressed her forehead to the cold tabletop with a profound look of relief. "Turns out it's not that easy. The Earth Mages have a hard time transmuting some of the elements, and there are others that they didn't even know existed until we showed them. It's the same problem for the Leprechaun and Gnome Alchemists, those mats were expensive and hard to come by, so they can't just magic them up."

"So that's why you had to come all the way to Arrun." Asuna reasoned.

"Yeah, pretty much." Liz agreed. "Kofu sent me to make a deal with a guy here in Arrun who secured rights with the Gloir family. Their land has a prime chunk of transitioned ALfheim sitting right in the middle of it with a really rich mineral vein." She blew out a breath. "But I don't have any idea when he's going to show."

Asuna nodded sympathetically. With Liz arriving in Arrun so close to their own departure, she hadn't seen the harm in letting her old blacksmith and friend use one of their spare bedrooms, and one more mouth to feed wasn't too much to ask for.

"Thanks again for this, I owe you one." Liz lifted the half drained glass.

Asuna smiled. "It's really nothing at all after you got my sword delivered on time like that. Buying you a drink is the least I can do."

"Not just for that." Liz said. "I would have had to blow money on an inn if I hadn't had someplace to stay."

"Like I said, it's fine." Asuna insisted. "And besides, it gives us a chance to catch up." A lot had happened in the last three months and between Liz's job and the travel time between Arrun and Northern Tristain, it wasn't practical to visit unless they happened to have business that brought them to the same City.

It felt strange to Asuna that after growing to know her so well when their bodies were tens, even hundreds of kilometers apart, it was so hard just to see her friend in person.

They chatted for a while longer as the they finished off their drinks. Liz had a lot to say about what was happening in Goubniu these days. The giant central forges, the smokestacks of which formed the Leprechaun city's Tower, was being renovated to house the new furnaces for steel production, and now smoke billowed from its stacks almost everyday as the engineers and mages refined the process for mass production.

It was all thanks to financing from the Vallieres, the Noble family which had developed the firmest ties with the Leprechauns and Gnomes thanks to the location of their estates. But even more than that, the Valliere family had been some of the firmest supporters of the Faeries since the very beginning.

It was strange to think that the cause of everything was the Duke and Duchess's youngest Daughter. Not that the revelation hadn't remained strictly need-to-know, but it was another thing that Asuna had been wondering about recently.

She was a Knight of the Faerie Court and Tristain, thought she didn't feel like it just yet. That meant that she was privileged to know a good many things and had been learning a good many more whenever she visited with Wales and Tristain's new Queen. One of the things she wasn't proud of having learned was to always look for an ulterior motive.

The official order handed down by Queen Henrietta was that Louise Valliere had been kidnapped and possibly subverted by her captors, whether that was true or she had gone willingly, the instructions given to all Knights and Agents of the Crown in regards to Louise Valliere were to treat her as a compromised but valued individual, placing her safe capture and return to Tristain even above their own lives.

In fact, Asuna knew that even if Louise was brought back safely to Tristain, regardless of her reasons, there were plans to place her under indefinite house arrest.

Given the Valliere family's power and wealth, it was safe to say that most would draw the wrong conclusion about the recent, fervent displays of loyalty which were also overtures for leniency.

Louise would be treated humanely, but it was unlikely that, knowing what they knew about her involvement in the summoning of ALfheim and the mysterious World Seed that she had apparently taken into her own body, she'd ever be allowed to leave the comfortable cage that was being arranged for her.

That thought was enough to stir up a small measure of Sympathy from Asuna. She'd had quite enough of gilded cages herself.

"You have to see them next time you're in town, the converters are _huge_." The Leprechaun finished her story. "It's pretty amazing that they could build the furnaces so quickly." Liz recounted. "But between the Mages and all the people we have working on the project, they were able to get the first of the units put together in less than month."

"That _is_ pretty amazing." Asuna agreed as she watched Liz finish her drink and stand up. "Alright then, I'm off to find this guy. Given the heat, he'll probably be holed up inside at his offices. Geez, I hope this is worth it."

"Well, whether or not you get what you came for," Asuna got up as well, hefting her grocery bag, "I'm making Soba noodles for this evening." The hot weather just seemed to be begging for something cold this evening.

"Gotcha. And thanks for the invitation." Liz grinned. "I'll let you know. Later then!"

They parted ways, Liz heading towards the southern exit from the Arcade while Asuna headed west to stay sheltered for as long as she could before stepping out onto the streets. With all the stone that made up the buildings near the center of the city, it wasn't hard to see why Arrun was so hot at ground level, the white surfaces reflected the light in every direction, but mostly, they directed the heat at the pedestrians. And dazzled them too!

Asuna was thankful for her hat and sunglasses and had almost been ready to take to the skies to trade the surface heat for the cooler air above before thinking better of it. Her wings had been getting her enough attention as it was, working her shoulders almost without thinking about it to relieve the false sensation of tension that the folded magic limbs produced, now that she was known as a Knight, she really didn't want to be spared a second glance.

So instead, she decided to take a shortcut that she'd found a while back, an innocent little Exploit of Arrun's topography that she had discovered thanks to Yui.

There were any number of parks and green spaces spread through the Faerie city. Most were kept hydrated by means of small streams, the overflow from the springs and river sources that supplied the city with drinking water. These streams cut their own path through secluded gardens and parks, winding their way down through the city before terminating among the herb and vegetable gardens and fish ponds in the semi-settled outer districts.

More importantly, between the water, and the shelter provided by the foliage, they were like tunnels of cool running randomly through the city, and she was approaching one right now that would drop her off near home.

She cast a furtive glance in both directions to be sure that no one was watching. It was a little selfish, but if everyone knew the secret, it wouldn't make a very good shortcut anymore, and the Watch would probably forbid it as unfit for travel, which would make Yui's friends and by extension, Yui, very upset.

Satisfied that no one was coming, Asuna hiked up her skirt just enough to throw one leg over the railing of a small footbridge, then scooted swiftly over the edge, dropping from view.

It wasn't a very long drop, the scary part was breaking through the foliage overhead, landing lightly on the broad, moss-covered stepping stones that paralleled a small, fast moving stream, this one fed the park near their home, if Asuna remembered correctly, she'd by back in no time at all.

Heading downhill, the noises of the birds and the occasional sounds of people as she passed beneath more footbridges were her only companions until she reached the park, more of a small public garden. The place was usually abandoned, it was pretty enough, with a small pond and arbor, but there were prettier parks in other sections of the City, so Asuna hadn't thought to check if she was being watched.

If she had, she wouldn't have been so surprised find someone sitting beside the pond where the stream water pooled and swirled before continuing its journey downward.

"Ah! I'm sorry I . . ." Asuna was halfway through formulating an excuse when she recognized the woman looking up at her.

"Morgiana-san?" Asuna asked. No, she was sure, she recognized the Spriggan Lord from the few times they had been in the same room, she was very hard to forget. Though, something seemed different today.

"Oh . . . " For her part, Morgiana's startled look faded into recognition, she asked softly, "You're Kirito-kun's girl, aren't you? Asuna, right?"

"Un." Asuna didn't know what else to say. Something was definitely wrong, that much was clear as day, all it would take was one look at the Spriggan woman's face, or the way that she let her bare feet dangle into the pond while she kept her knees pulled up to her chin, like a troubled child.

Which was why Asuna felt compelled to ask, even if they weren't exactly friends, she felt she had an obligation to make sure. "Morgiana-san? I didn't expect to see you here." Or anyone really. "Is everything alright?"

The Spriggan woman broke into a tired smile. "Alright? Yeah, everything is just fine." She chuckled softly. "It's just perfect. Why wouldn't it be?" But the smile was brittle, like old porcelain, and the Spriggan's eyes told how much she didn't mean it. Asuna didn't buy it for a second.

Setting her bag down on level ground, Asuna spread out her skirt and seated herself beside the older woman.

"It's pretty obvious I'm lying, huh?" Morgiana asked softly, waiting for Asuna to nod slowly. "The truth is . . . I'm hiding." Said in a very small and un-Morgiana like voice. Asuna hadn't even known the woman could speak so softly.

"From who?" Asuna asked, growing a little worried. Who could Morgiana need to hide from? "Is there some sort of trouble?"

"Yes." The Spriggan said. "And no. Maybe." She shook her head. "I'm hiding from my Guild, this isn't one of my normal haunts, and . . . I guess I'm kind of hiding from myself." She chuckled again. "I guess that probably sounds pretty dumb, huh?"

"I don't think so." Asuna said quickly, receiving a skeptical look for her trouble. "I mean," Asuna went on, "There's times when you don't want to think too hard about your troubles, aren't there?" Asuna had known plenty of times like that, in Aincrad, and even before, in that lonely house that had felt like it was only ever occupied by herself and her mother.

Morgiana started to speak, and then stopped, and then she smiled genuinely. The sound that came next was more like bells than anything else, giggles rather than the deep, forceful laughs that the Spriggan woman always seemed to use. "I guess you're right. Maybe what I need is a good vacation from myself." She stopped, looking to Asuna with a strange expression. "Say, Asuna, you and Kirito . . . you're like . . . married, right?"

Asuna didn't know why that would matter, but she nodded quickly. "Un. Although, it's not that simple really." She thought back to the circumstances. Even if she considered it as meaningful as any real life wedding, she knew it wasn't really the same thing. "Is there something you wanted to ask me about it? If it'll help . . ." She trailed off as Morgiana's features grew troubled.

"Maybe." The Spriggan Lord said at last. "Depends, do you have a minute?"

For Asuna, the answer was simple enough. She had been confronted by a person in need, and by chance had learned that she could help. "I have a little time." She said.


	11. Chapter 2 Part 4: Fishing for Advice

Halkegenia Online v3.0 – Chapter 2 – Part 4

"Morgiana is . . . pregnant." The Spriggan swordsman Kirito repeated what he had just been told with a tone of disbelieving dread. "With _your_ child."

"She's very confident that is how it went." Eugene replied stoically, and he was inclined to believe her on the matter, his own feelings aside.

"You mean you . . ." Kirito started to gesture confusedly.

Eugene nodded.

"With her . . . ?"

"Yes." The Salamander agreed.

Fujioka Tarou, the Salamander General Eugene, waited patiently for the shock to wear-off. Judging by the way that the Spriggan's eyes had glazed over, he was going to be waiting for a while.

Perhaps he shouldn't have been so blunt about it, but then, whether as Eugene or as Tarou, he had always held to the conviction that the fastest way from one point to another was a straight line, regardless of what that line demanded of him, he'd never had any difficulty in walking it. That was, until now.

'That woman.' Eugene thought, the image of Morgiana clear in his mind. 'She doesn't make anything easy.'

Of course, he'd known that long before his avatar had become his flesh and blood, their last duel in ALO had convinced him of that. Seeing how Morgiana had weathered the catastrophe of the Transition had only strengthened those convictions.

"So." Kirito asked at last, slowly sinking down to sit atop a large rock that overlooked the lakeside from their secluded vantage and the dock where the Vice Squad Commander and the Black Swordsman's own daughter were still seated with their fishing rods. "You two must be making plans, no, stupid, I'm sure the Lords all know by now." Eugene winced, Kirito was more right than he knew. "This is going to be a big deal when it becomes public knowledge. But why tell me all of this?"

Eugene took a long, slow breath as he considered just how he had ended up looking for help from the only man who had managed to defeat him after he had obtained the Demonic Sword Gram.

The simple truth was that Kirito had simply been the only person he knew with a 'wife' and 'child' and perhaps circumstances that were partly relevant, though hardly identical to the ones that Eugene found himself facing now.

But now that he was here, he was at a loss for exactly what to say next. Eugene tilted his head back down towards the lakeside, where the Vice Squad Commander was occupied entertaining the little girl, Kirigaya Yui, her father's daughter.

"Because, I'm in need of . . ." Eugene paused to study the Spriggan youth, he hesitated to say advice. Eugene would have snorted, all of this tiptoeing was much more like Sakuya or his brother's game. " . . . Another perspective. One I can't get from Brother or the Lords" He settled on that as his answer.

Kirito remained mystified for perhaps a breath longer, then, the young man's features grew serious. "I'm sorry." He apologized. "If this is about what I think it is. I'm not sure how much help I can be. Keep in mind that Yui-chan isn't Asuna's or my biological daughter, so I can't really give that sort of advice."

Eugene shook his head, frustration growing, not that he had been expecting help like that, really, he wasn't sure what he was expecting. Maybe just someone to hear him out. "That's fine, it's only part of what I wanted to talk to you about."

How to say this, he'd always had difficulty with these sorts of things. It didn't help that he was trying to live up to what was expected of a man in these situations, only to discover that the woman he was doing it partly for might not appreciate his devotion.

The stomach turning sensation that had accompanied the Spriggan Lord's . . . no . . . Morgiana's, confession, had not yet faded.

"When she told me, I was . . . surprised." Yes, surprised was a good word for it, because in truth, he _still_ wasn't sure how to feel.

A man was supposed to be overjoyed when he heard news of his first child, and he supposed he was, and maybe a little in awe. "But there could be problems with us having the child as things are." The Nobility for one, would never stand for it, not while Morgiana was a Faerie Lord and he was a General, and Knight of Tristain.

Eugene knew without asking that his brother Katsuo wouldn't appreciate it much either, regardless of politics. "Brother and the other Lords have told us that it would be in everyone's best interest if we were to make official arrangements."

"You mean, for you and Morgiana to get married." Kirito blanched very slightly, an impressive achievement given his ashen complexion. Was the prospect really so terrifying?

Eugene nodded his head. To think that he might propose marriage to someone in a time and a place like this, it seemed insane, but it also seemed sensible. And he couldn't say he was averse to Morgiana's company.

Her Fae granted beauty and stature completely aside, he'd been impressed more and more by her at every turn since the Transition, brave, and possessed of a commendable personal strength, and a wonderfully _good_ sense of humor that seemed to resonate with the people around her. That was it, she had a way of making the people around her _better_. What he had seen so far had only made him want to know her more.

Which was probably why, when the question had been asked, he'd been willing to say yes.

"I told Morgiana that I wanted to be there for our child." Eugene said gruffly, he found that he'd begun to pace as he spoke. "It isn't the way that I would have wanted it, but I told her I was willing to do it for her sake, and for the child. But . . ."

"I get it." Kirito said softly. Eugene gave the young man, sitting close eyed, another look. Maybe he hadn't chosen wrongly in coming to Kirito. "That's when she told you that she isn't in love with you."

And at that, Eugene hesitated. Hearing her say 'No' had been a brutal reminder that he really didn't know her at all, not the way he'd thought he did.

"She said what was in her heart." Eugene said quietly. "I can't fault her for that. I'm grateful that she spoke only the truth."

Except . . . he almost wished she hadn't, or rather, that the truth had been different. Not that he could have expected anything else. They barely knew each other after all, that was no foundation for any sort of relationship. In short, he'd been a fool and seen only what he'd wanted to see. The blame rested only with him.

"Kirito." Eugene spoke up. "Asuna-san . . . She was with you in SAO, you've thought of yourselves as a married since that time, haven't you?"

This time, the Spriggan's jaw took on a harder set and he met Eugene's gaze directly. The Salamander admitted that he was satisfied, that was the look of the swordsman he'd fought in ALO, determined not to let anything stop him. "I consider my marriage to Asuna to be completely real." Kirito clasped his hands together while speaking. "It doesn't matter one way or another how others see it, I've chosen to devote myself to her."

"But you didn't know her IRL, did you?" Or at least, Eugene hadn't heard anything to that effect. And yet, Kirito had been willing to go back into Full Dive as soon as he there was the smallest glimmer of hope that he would find her. And what was more, he'd been willing to fighting his way across an entire Kingdom in this real world in order to reach her.

Kirito's nod came with a pained smile. "The first time I ever saw Asuna in the real world was when I visited her hospital room, before that, she was only a person who existed to me in Aincrad. So no, I didn't know anything about the real Asuna when I fell in love with her."

Eugene closed his eye, meditating on what he had been told. "Then what I should ask, is how you can have such conviction?" How could he build trust like that in a world where nobody knew the truth about anyone that they met?

"Conviction?" Kirito scratched at the back of his neck, seeming a little embarrassed. "I don't know if I'd say that. I just decided that the Asuna I met in Aincrad was the real Asuna and chose to believe in her completely. I think it's the same for Asuna as well."

Eugene was in the midst of formulating a reply when Kirito went on. "Just so it's clear, I don't think the important qualities of a person are something that really changes, even if the personality we show to the world is different, it comes from the same source. So if you're worried about whether the Morgiana you know is just an act, or if she's really the person you think she is, I don't think that there's really any difference."

"So, that's your advice?" Eugene didn't know whether to believe it. "People can assume a completely different character when their given the chance." He'd seen it often enough, playing both ALO and the older flat screen MMOs that had preceded it. He would have thought that this real world would have knocked some sense into them, but he suspected that many of his fellow Faeries had only sunk deeper into their personas.

"These are only my personal observations, I could definitely be wrong." Kirito admitted, grinning sheepishly. "But from the sound of it, you're not so sure one way or another."

Seeking Kirito out had at least confronted him with more difficult questions, the Salamander thought. But they were questions that needed to be asked so that he could find the answers to the bigger question that confronted him.

She didn't love him, but did he love her? Could he? And if he could, was it possible for her to one day love him back?

Those questions would have been a lot easier to answer if those answers weren't needed so urgently.

'That woman.' He thought again. One way or another, they were questions that were worth asking.

"But I think if you really want an answer, it's going to take you and Morgiana-san, and time." The Spriggan decided confidently. "I have absolute faith in my love for Asuna, but it isn't something that just happened." Kirito grimaced as he no doubt relived his own memories, old battles, and struggles in a world that was as removed from this place as it was from modern Japan. "Even though some parts came quickly, we knew each other for nearly two years before these feelings really took shape." The Spriggan stopped talking and shook his head. "So you really need to talk to her rather than me, and find out how she feels about you. Even if it's not love, it'll tell you a lot. Sorry if that's not what you wanted to hear. It may not be the help you were looking for."

"No." Eugene said, casting his eyes to the ground at his feet. "It's exactly what needed to be said. Thank you." Another glance to the lake proved confirmed that Yui and the Vice Squad Commander were still seated on the dock.

Eugene tried to think of something to say, not knowing many people who had children, even IRL, he was at a loss for the right words. "She seems . . . happy."

Kirito got up to come stand beside him, the young Spriggan barely coming up to the middle of his chest. "Asuna and I have been trying hard to give her a home to thrive in. It's not easy, but I think we're lucky that Yui came to us as a child. If she had been toddler or an infant, neither of us would be ready for that." The young man's smile faded. "I'm actually a little worried about leaving her here in Arrun."

"Concern for her safety?" Eugene asked.

Kirito shook his head. "Her happiness mostly. I feel like she's just got us both back, and now we have to leave her alone again. She hates it more than anything." He chuckled lightly. "But maybe I just hate the idea that there might be a day when she'll _stop_ hating it. At least I know she'll have her aunts, and uncles to watch over her, she won't be all alone, and Asuna says she's been making friends with the other children."

"Is that so?" Eugene nodded his head politely, not letting his eyes leave the girl who, as he watched, let loose with a big yawn before adjusted her grip on the grip and determinedly gone back to her fishing.

Observing her, acknowledging that she was a child, Kirito's child, seemed to solidify what was happening. For the first time, Eugene wondered about the child that Morgiana would give birth to as something other than 'the Child'.

Would it be a boy or a girl? Which of them would it take after? If their new biology was complete, it would probably be a Faerie. Would it be a Spriggan? A Salamander? Mixed? What would they call him, or her? What sort of person would they be?

And a thought that was even more powerful. "I'm going to be a father."

Eugene hadn't considered himself afraid of anything, even death, he didn't have the luxury to be scared when so many people looked to him to be the General of the Salamanders, their champion in battle just as his brother was their Leader. But the idea of a baby was something else entirely.

And then another revelation. "And Morgiana is going to be a mother." The thought sinking in for the first time. Strangely, he wasn't afraid of that one at all. He'd seen too much of Morgiana's demeanor, both on and off of the battlefield. The way that she treated the people around her.

'That woman . . .' He couldn't help but smile. If Kirito was right, than he didn't have anything to fear, Morgiana would love her child and do anything for it.

And whether they loved each other or not, Eugene knew that he would also love their child, and married or not, would be there to help.

"I think that no matter what happens, you'll make a good dad, Eugene." Kirito said without looking away from the lake. His eyes suddenly widened as, down on the docks, Yui perked up, letting out a surprised shout as the fishing rod was nearly yanked from her hands.

"Crap!" Eugene managed to hear before Kirito took a running jump, flashing his wings as he skimmed over the trees and brush. The General was at a loss for what to do save follow.

"Klein!" Kirito shouted as he touched down, foot pounding across the wood deck to where the Vice Squad Commander was lending a helping hand to the little girl who was leaned back precariously with a white knuckled grip on the handle of her fishing rod.

"She's got it!" The self-styled samurai barked, holding on tight to the girl's shoulders.

"Hghn!" Yui heaved back as she fought with the line.

"Careful Yui! You'll lose it!" Kirito took his daughter's hands into his own. "Easier on the line, keep it tense, but let the fish tire itself out!"

Eugene approached slowly, watching the scene unfold.

"No, that's too much give, the hook might come loose if there's play, a little more, that's right!"

Father and daughter watching the water for the first signs. Then. -Splash!- A flash of silver scales in the sunlight.

"Klein, get the net!" Kirito shouted without losing track of the shadow approaching under the water for even one second.

The black swordsman was in his element here, as much as he was in battle, hands moving deftly, assisting the little girl, but never taking the rod from her grip. It was her battle to win or lose, Eugene realized, looking between the two, the Spriggan was just there to lend the strength that his daughter did not possess.

Another splash, the rainbow sheen of scales vanishing beneath the water one last time before being dragged towards the surface, a shadow beneath the surface transformed into a narrow face, two bulging fish eyes, and a small, toothless maw. It wasn't a large catch by any means as it was pulled from the water, but Yui squealed with delight nevertheless.

"Quick, let me grab the measuring tape." Kirito fished around in the wooden tackle box, retrieving a marked ribbon. "Klein, check the book, I think this one is allow, right?"

"It's on the permitted fishing list." Klein confirmed, comparing the fish flopping around on the deck to a page from a loose leaf booklet.

"Size?" Kirito asked, Yui leaning over to watch and to examine her catch.

"Anything over twenty eight centimeters or three kilos."

"Then we're good." The Spriggan hefted the struggling fish, tossing it into a bucket of lake water set aside for just such a purpose before turning back to an excited Yui.

"We caught one! We really caught one!" The look on her face seeming almost surprised.

Kirito shook his head. "I just helped. _You_ caught it Yui." He patted the bucket with a grin. "It's a really good first catch too."

"Really?"

"Really!" The Spriggan laughed. "My first time, I didn't catch anything and grandpa only let me eat the canned vegetables and crackers. What'd you say we cook this one to go with dinner tonight?"

"Un!" Yui nodded eagerly.

Eugene could help but note the feeling between the two of them.

It was a child's victory, and the congratulations from her father were absolutely real, as real as their bond as parent and child.


	12. Chapter 2 Part 5: Tarou and Momoko

So, I'm really not sure if I like how I concluded this. It feels a little too 'neat and convenient' for lack of a better word. Though hopefully its comes off as not fully resolved, as it should.

Halkegenia Online v3 - Chapter 2 - Part 5

"Look at me, I mean, I don't even know why I'm telling you all of this."

Morgiana looked over to the girl at her side, pretty, and young, too young for all of this, Asuna couldn't be much older than seventeen or eighteen, even after everything she'd gone through. What the heck was she thinking?

Some 'Big Sis' she was, Morgiana thought, dumping all of her problems in someone else' lap like this. She hadn't even spilled her guts like this to Shirishi. And to do it in front of a kid, Morgiana wanted to laugh at herself, but she didn't. Asuna hadn't laughed either, or said anything really. That silence had drawn her out, compelled her to keep talking, to fill the void between them with her troubles.

First she'd sort of babbled, and then, as she got her story straight in her own head, the truth had started to come out, the truth she'd been keeping even from herself.

It had all just . . . happened. All the feelings she'd been holding in, bottling up and squeezing tight until they could almost burst, so afraid that they would undo her if they got out, had simply come free at last. It was the first time she'd been without her mask since winding up in this world, and yet she felt somehow at ease, peaceful.

It probably was _because_ she didn't really know Asuna, Morgiana thought. She didn't owe this girl anything, she wasn't _responsible_ for her, it was . . . simple, and Asuna was sympathetic. And right now, she really, _really_ needed simple and sympathetic.

At some point, Asuna had sat down beside her and kicked off her shoes. Now both women were soaking their feet in the shallows of the stream, the small fish that inhabited the calm pools flitting out from hiding places to nibble at their toes.

"It certainly is a difficult situation." The Maeve said at last, voice thoughtful and nonjudgmental, leaning back to look up through the canopy. It was the first time she'd said much at all during their one sided conversation. "A child . . . and marriage. Even just listening about it I'm feeling overwhelmed. But that's alright, you needed to hear yourself say these words, I think."

"Yeah?" Morgiana drew in one leg, hugging it tightly, her cheek resting against her knee. "But I really wish I hadn't. Sorry." The Spriggan woman whispered. No answer from Asuna, simply an encouraging smile, the girl was just waiting to hear what she had to say. 'It's like she already has me figured out.'

"It's just . . ." Morgiana chewed at her lip.

She squeezed her eyes shut, she was so used to thinking in terms of being Morgiana now, someone who was strong, and brave, and much bolder than Momoko had ever been. The sort of person she'd been working hard everyday to become. Then, after spending so much time as that person, it was hard to take a step back and be _herself_ anymore. Where did one start and the other end?

"It was fun, you know?" She gestured vaguely with her free hand. "Playing ALO, being someone else . . ." Morgiana stopped, eyes cast down into the clear water of the stream. "The truth is that for a long time, I didn't like the real me very much."

"Morgiana-san?" Asuna didn't stop her, but her eyes did widen in a small show of alarm.

"Don't worry." Morgiana grinned ruefully. "I decided a long time ago to be a better person, even if it was hard and I only made a little progress everyday." Some days she'd even slipped and fallen. "It was just . . . I felt like there was all this built up momentum I was working against. People don't always like it when you try to change who you are." Like her parents . . .

"But then I jumped into full dive gaming, and it was like a completely different world that I could go to. I'd never felt so free before in my life." And that freedom had given her a place to act out the sort of person she wanted to be, until the Transition that was. "Then, all of this happened and . . ." She stopped.

The day the Transition had hit, the Kurotaka had been planning their big Jotunheim raid, part of a series quests to defeat one of the Frost Giant Tribes and obtain more rare drops to gear up for the Grand Quest. It seemed so long ago now, the light hearted atmosphere as they got ready to go kick butt and take names.

Shirishi had been joking with her and Marina, Drake was threatening anyone who attempted to Leeroy their carefully laid plans. Almost fifty ash skinned Spriggans had been gathered up in the room, either surrounding the maple table or watching from the balconies.

It had been just like any other day, until it wasn't anymore.

Morgiana's experience with the Transition had been the same as everyone else, the world pausing around her, and then a whole lot of bright and pain.

Waking up with a cotton headed feeling, like a bad hangover. Finding Drake and Shirishi passed out along with everyone else in the Guild Hall's great room, finding out that the menu wasn't working, that she couldn't call the GMs to get an explanation for what had happened . . . that she couldn't log out, _and neither could anyone else_.

Morgiana remembered the familiar, and at the same time alien, sensation of her stomach doing flip flops, not realizing at the time that it really was her guts worming around inside of her flesh and blood body. What had happened? What _could_ have happened?

Momoko knew about the SAO incident. She'd read up on the web when Shirishi had first introduced her to Full Dive Gaming. The ten thousand players who had been taken hostage by a madman, trapped in the game under pain of death by what was essentially a microwave gun strapped to their foreheads.

Even though Momoko had seen it in the news when it had happened, it still seemed so completely surreal, she'd half thought it had to be a hoax. Shirishi had assured her that it was real.

Because of that research, Momoko had also known that a repeat of the SAO incident was considered impossible. With the recall of the Nerve Gear, its replacement console, the AMUsphere, had been designed to incorporate both software and physical safeties that would make another SAO incident impossible, even to the point of sacrificing immersion for the sake of safety.

That had been a hollow comfort to Momoko as she'd traded looks with a dazed Drake and an already nervous Shirishi. She'd seen it on their faces, in all of them, the seed of fear that was already bubbling to the surface. And she'd seen them all turning to her, as if it was their first instinct.

She was their Faction Leader, Momoko had realized with dread, and more importantly, she was their Guild Leader, the one who had brought them together for the simple joy of experiencing this world. Their fearless 'Big Sis' who was at the head of every Raid, who had faced down General Eugene of the Salamanders, and outfoxed Lord Rute of the Leprechauns, laughing all the way.

Momoko had stood transfixed, faced down by their fearful eyes, looking for someone, _anyone_ to give them courage. The surreal sensation, like it all had to be a dream. But it felt so . . . _real_.

She'd done the only thing she could think to do at that moment, put on the spot, she'd taken the first step down her path. Honestly, it had felt like someone else had been moving her body while Momoko just watched. Hefting her Jotun Spear and plastering her face with a look of calm confidence.

When she'd started talking, handing out instructions, people had looked at her like she was insane. People also tended to let crazy amazon women with giant spears finish talking.

She still sort of remembered what she'd said, for all that she hadn't been in her right mind at the time, but most of the rest of that day had been a blur of quarreling, screaming, and even a few physical confrontations.

She'd had to shout a few people down, she'd had to knock a few more upside the head. She must have managed somehow, because she made it through the first day without the mask ever slipping. Even when she'd seen the blood, even when she'd seen the corpses.

The next thing she remembered clearly was sitting on the edge of her bed so late at night that it was almost morning, shaking as the adrenaline faded from her veins, leaving her body feeling miserable and exhausted. Her flesh and blood body, her Faerie body, she'd thought as she touched a finger to her wrist and felt the steady beating of her own heart. She'd trembled as she'd touched her own face, the unfamiliar contours of features she had not been born with.

By then, they'd known the real horror of what had happened to them. But by then, it had been too late to stop. Frighteningly, it had seemed like Morgiana had taken on a life of her own, and Momoko had been helpless to do anything but go along for the ride.

"They needed me . . ." Morgiana repeated softly. "They needed their fearless Lord so badly. Morgiana the Phantom Queen." She choked out a laugh. She'd thought the epitaph had been really cool in ALO. "And now . . . the truth is, I'm scared to stop. I don't . . . I don't want them to think differently of me."

She didn't want them to see the scared and weak woman that she really was.

She'd just never counted on a pregnancy, or a marriage. That wasn't what Morgiana was, it wasn't what she was _supposed _to be, and like a thread picked loose, it had caught and started to pull and unravel the whole rest of the thing. If she'd known what was good for her, she would have stopped, but she just _couldn't_.

'I'm being selfish.' Morgiana thought.

"They're . . . being very selfish." Asuna said.

"Huh?" Morgiana's head snapped up.

"Un." Asuna nodded once, and resumed her soft smile. "They're expecting too much from just one person. Spriggans sure are greedy." The smile dropped a little. "For a while in SAO, I made that sort of mistake and thought that just because people were relying on me, that I wasn't allowed to live for myself as well. I don't know you very well Morgiana-san, but you don't seem like you want to be the sort of person who protects people just because it's expected of you."

"No." Morgiana agreed. "I don't. I want to protect them because its what _I_ expect of me. That's why I've been able to fight like I have. But . . ." She placed a hand once again to her stomach. "A baby just wasn't in the cards. And neither was getting married. Those are supposed to be happy things." They were supposed to be something you were careful with, and cherished. More importantly, they were things that were supposed to happen to _Momoko_ not her other self. "All of the fighting, and killing. None of us are really safe. How can I bring a child into this world?"

It was _cruel, _Morgiana thought. But the only other option was . . . No . . . She gave a firm mental head shake. She would _not_ do that to her unborn child. Anything but that.

Then, a thought. "How do you manage it? With Yui, I mean?" She knew it wasn't the same thing, the little Maeve girl was far from being a normal child, but Asuna was far from being a normal mother.

Asuna frowned thoughtfully. "I can't really say. I don't think its fair to compare one to the other, Kirito and I took Yui-chan in under completely different circumstances." The girl beside her recalled thoughtfully. "She just needed us so badly. But at the same time, she's so independent that our problems probably aren't like normal parents." Asuna gazed down at her feet, wriggling her toes to scare off the fish. "The truth is that, although I consider myself Yui-chan's mother, there are a lot of things I can't do for her yet. I'm scared sometimes that I won't be ready to really give her what she needs."

"Oh." Morgiana paused, well, it had been worth a shot.

But Asuna wasn't finished just yet. "I think the most important thing, is making sure that your child is loved, completely, no matter who they are or how you meet them. I can't speak for you or your child, Morgiana-san, but I think that because this world is so harsh, it would be too sad if a child wasn't welcomed into it with love. You should talk to Eugene-san. I'm sure he's thinking about the same things as you."

Morgiana nodded without saying a word. The problem was, she really didn't want to talk to him right now. After saying something like 'I don't love you'. It seemed like she needed to give the air time to clear. Maybe in the morning it would be alright to talk? She thought she could manage that. But she wasn't even sure if she was _able_ to love someone like that.

Asuna smiled wanly, "I'm sorry, now I'm the one giving you trouble."

"No." Morgiana grinned. "No, it's alright. What you said is probably true." She appraised the girl carefully once more. "You're a good a kid, you know that? Kirito found himself a good girl. Thanks though, for listening to my troubles. It's not your job to have to hear it."

"But I don't mind." The Maeve girl drew her feet from the water and began to climb to her feet, offering Morgiana a helping hand. "I have to get back home to start on dinner but . . ." Asuna nodded " . . . Maybe it's a little sudden, but if you'd like, we always have room for another guest, we can keep talking if you want."

"A dinner invitation?"

"Un." Asuna agreed. "I promise to make it good. And I'll make sure its healthy for you and the baby."

The other option was to head back to her place, where _someone_ was bound to be waiting. She just needed a little more time to think.

Morgiana grinned. "Now you're just _trying_ to get me to like you."

Going with Asuna turned out to be the right decision, the home she shared with her family was pretty much in the exact opposite direction of her own place, on one of the decidedly more quiet side streets. Chances were good that if any of her little crows were flocking around, they wouldn't think to check here.

It wasn't the first time the Morgiana had stepped foot in a kitchen since the Transition, but it was the first that she'd been in that looked so well used. Like a restaurant, or maybe a gastronomy lab she'd seen on TV.

"It's a hobby of mine." Asuna supplied simply. "I like the challenge, and I think its sort of relaxing."

"Ever thought of going into business?" Morgiana ran a finger across the spotless counter top. "People are making good money at it right now." Introducing ALfheim's menu to the Nobility of Tristain.

Asuna had shaken her head. "I think having to make things off of a menu day in and day out would make it too boring. I really only like doing it for friends and family." She explained, setting down her shopping bag and laying out ingredients. "Let's see, Liz is going to be here too, so that five people." The Maeve looked up at Morgiana. "Uhm . . ."

"Just point me at what you need." Morgiana said, accepting a pairing knife and a bunch of green onions.

The joy of cooking, it felt a lot less glamorous without all of the modern conveniences, magic made up for some of it, teamwork had to fill in for the rest. And like Asuna had said, it gave them time to finish their talk, and their hands something to do in the meantime.

"Love?" Asuna asked as she looked up from the saucepan. "You mean, how I fell in love with Kirito-kun?"

"Just seems to me like we have a lot of the same problems." Morgiana finished chopping, setting the vegetables aside. "You barely even knew him, right?"

"Hmm . . ." Asuna stirred the contents of the pan and then sampled some to buy herself time. "People have asked me that question a lot, so I guess I shouldn't be surprised. This is my second experience with it, so maybe that's why I'm more accepting. Morgiana-san?" The Maeve who was at least half a decade her junior met her eyes seriously. "You may not love him, but you at least like Eugene-san, right?"

She had to ask it like that of course. Morgiana squirmed, and cursed her own weakness for the heat that was rising to her cheeks. "What kind of question is that?" It was totally unfair was what it was! "I . . ." She stopped, took a breath. "I don't _hate _him, okay?" She admitted.

It definitely didn't hurt that she found him _extremely_ attractive as a Salamander. Not that it would have mattered much without his other qualities.

She liked the fact that he got a rush out of challenging himself. She liked that he bought into the whole proud warrior ideal, heart and soul. She even liked the fact that he was so serious all the time. He didn't take anything for granted, and that had included her, it actually made her feel, she wasn't sure, sort of . . . special.

Meanwhile, all she could do was make light of everything so that she didn't just break and cry. Eugene didn't need to lean on anyone else. That was real strength.

'I can't get close to him, or he'll see how weak I am.' How could she love him if she couldn't even connect with him?

"Yeah, I like him." It hurt to admit, but she really did. She admired him at least. "But how do I know there isn't something off about him?" This was someone who was going to have a role in her child's life, in _their_ child's life, maybe in _her _life too.

Angsting about it so much made hearing Asuna laugh at the question sort of jarring. "I used to think things like that about Kirito-kun all the time." Asuna said mirthfully, she made room for Morgiana to help her with the noodles she was laying out. "I always saw him and thought 'What a suspicious person', I was sure he never took anything seriously and that he was really a bit weird, but . . ." Her hair rippled as she shook her head. "Even thought I didn't learn much about his past, I learned a lot about his character."

"Isn't that being a little idealistic?" Morgiana questioned, just because you though you knew someone, didn't make it true. She guessed she could talk to Mort to make sure everything was on the level. But that was like saying that she couldn't trust Eugene either.

"Maybe." Asuna admitted. "Maybe I'm just young and lack experience." She mused idly as she began to ladle the dipping sauce into bowls so that it could cool. "Kirito-kun and I met each other, and eventually, we fell in love. I guess one day we might fall out of love, but . . . I'm sorry, I don't have a very good imagination, because even though I know it might happen, I really can't see it." Then her smile widened until it could have lit the room all on its own. "Because even though I don't like everything about Kirito-kun, I love the person he is, and the person that he wants to be equally."

"Maybe you and Eugene-san really don't love each other, but you at least like and respect each other. And maybe I can only say this because it's not my decision, but even if it makes thing harder, if you don't think its the right thing, you should not marry Eugene-san."

The problem was, she _did_ think it was the right thing. She knew that marrying Eugene would make most of the trouble go away, she knew that Eugene would love their child just like she would, and she knew that they could at least tolerate each other, assuming she hadn't completely screwed everything up with her little admission.

It was only her own hang ups that were in the way. Morgiana noted that the Maeve had stopped very abruptly. "I'm sensing another 'but'."

"Un." Asuna nodded firmly. "But more importantly, for you and Eugene-san, even if it doesn't happen quickly, don't let this change whether or not you can love him." Something serious took hold in Asuna's eyes. "More than anything, I think you would regret it."

Don't let it change whether or not she could love him?

She had a hard time admitting she could 'like' him, much less love him. Taking her time, and letting it flow naturally, that sounded nice, but just how long would that even take? And how was she even supposed to find out if this wedding idea was being stuffed down her throat by the other Lords.

The sound of a bell chime alerted them that someone had just arrived. Asuna peered out the kitchen window at the still light, but steadily darkening sky. "That must be Kirito-kun. He and Klein took Yui-chan fishing today. I'm sure they'll want to have their catch with dinner tonight to celebrate. Ah, could you grab the tea please?"

"Sure thing," the Spriggan answered thoughtlessly.

Morgiana grabbed a tray loaded with a pitcher of barley tea and the cups that the Maeve had set out, following Asuna back to the living room . . .And nearly dropping the whole platter when she saw the man stopping through the front door.

Looming behind the Spriggan Kirito and the Maeve Yui, Eugene swept the living room like he was inspecting a barracks.

Morgiana's first instinct was to dive back through the door to the kitchen and make her escape, but before she had a chance, she was spotted.

"Morgiana?" Just the slightest hint of surprise before it disappeared behind that stoic expression.

The Lady of the Spriggan's stopped in her tracks and refused to look him in the eye. Asuna and Kirito exchanged heated whispers, looked like they didn't known anything about this, meanwhile, Eugene held his ground, or maybe he was just as frozen as her.

'What do I do?' Just as bad as it had been earlier in the day. "What are you . . ." She started to say.

"What are . . ." Eugene tried to say back. They were both stuck now.

"Ah, Morgiana-san, I'm sorry, about this." Asuna tried to come to the rescue. "It seems that Kirito-kun met Gene-san down at the lake and invited him to dinner. I just hope that it's okay with you." The Maeve wrung her hands nervously.

"I . . . can you . . ." Morgiana began.

"I don't wish to spoil your night. I'd like to speak with Morgiana, alone, and then take my leave. Can you give us a moment." Eugene finished for her.

The Spriggan-Maeve couple looked first to Eugene and then back to Morgiana. "That was supposed to be my line." The Spriggan woman breathed.

This was going to happen, she thought, there was no more putting it off. So why did she feel relieved?

Putting down the tray and following him to the door. Asuna gave her a small nod of encouragement. For some reason, the gesture meant a lot to her.

It was still hot outside, even though the sun was setting. The local insects were preparing for the night, deep throated chirps and clicking noises faintly audible on the front porch of the Kirigaya residence.

Morgiana expected Eugene to start talking right away, but he didn't, he stayed back, gave her space to pace about, let her get comfortable. "So . . ." Morgiana said when she was ready.

"So." Eugene echoed, slowly taking a breath, an action that was more like a volcano stirring from dormancy. "I want to apologize for this morning." He raised a hand to ward off her reply. "I was unfair to you in front of my brother. Rather . . . I was unfair to you."

The giant of a Salamander bowed his head. "Morgiana, whatever your decision, I will abide by it. All I can ask, is that you don't let this drive a wedge between us."

Eugene brought his head back up so that he could meet her with violet eyes. "There is nothing more I would want in this world than the chance to know you better."

"For what it's worth." He reached out with his right hand, taking her left, and raising it between them. "Fujioka Tarou," Morgiana's eyes went wide, "I'm the brother of Fujioka Katsuo, twenty seven years old."

Morgiana blinked quickly as she digested what he'd just said.

"I know it isn't much. But I hope it can be a start." He fell silent, waiting patiently for her answer.

The Spriggan shook her head. If he was willing to make the effort, why not? "Mirai Momoko, I'm twenty three years old. It's a pleasure to meet you Fujioka-san."

Here it was, one way or another, she had to make the right choice. "I've been thinking a lot since this morning, and . . . I still can't say that I love you, or that I can ever love you . . ." She confessed, wincing as she saw the pain in his eyes, it had never really occurred to her that she might mean more to him than he did to her. "I'm sorry. That's my fault, not yours. But . . ."

It hung in the air, the words that she was about to say. She could just shut her mouth now, apologize, and go back inside. She could keep pretending, keep hiding inside of her own head, or she could live up to the person she was trying to be. "I think it would be wrong if I didn't find out."

He blinked rapidly, she took one step, then another, coming to stand a scant handful of centimeters apart. She was a hundred and eight three centimeters tall, she knew down to the centimeter from the character editor, but he still had a good two tenths of a meter on her.

"Now, please listen, because this is probably the most important thing I can say . . ." She crossed her arms. "This whole crazy thing. I want to do what's best." Morgiana said quietly. "Even if what's best right now isn't what I want for myself. I don't even know one way or another."

"Morgiana . . ."

"_Listen_." The Spriggan woman growled again. "_If_ I marry you. It will be because I

think it's the right thing to do. Because it's what I think I _should_ do. Not your brother, not Sakuya, not the other Lords." She pressed a finger into the center of his chest, eyes shinning up at him. "Not even you. Even if all of you are right. It's _my _choice and I'll make it thinking about everyone and everything."

The Faeries, her kids, her child, and _herself_.

Thinking about what really mattered, her sacrifices felt so small. 'And he's sacrificing a lot too.' Morgiana thought. She'd never seen Eugene look scared before.

Did she love him? No. But she did like him. Maybe that could be a start. But not if she she let anyone else force her into this, then she'd hate it. That was why it had to be something she did of her own free will.

Eugene closed his eyes, nodding solemnly. "Whatever you decide, I swear to support it." She could depend on him, she knew that right down to the core.

"Good." Morgiana bit her lip. That's what she wanted to hear. "Then, if you think it's the right thing too, and only if you think its the right thing, Eugene, Tarou-san," she took his hand, a big paw that made her own seem dainty in comparison, and squeezed as she shut her eyes.

"Will you marry me?"

The silence that followed could have meant anything. In fact, it left Morgiana feeling like she was drifting through empty space as she waited and waited . . .

The hand that took her own and squeezed back was warm, and dry, the rough callouses strangely comforting even as she prayed she wouldn't end up regretting this like she knew she would.

"I would be honored, Momoko-san."


	13. Chapter 3 Part 1: An Entry With a Boom

Halkegenia Online v3.0 – Chapter 3 – Part 1

Shiori, formerly the male hacker Shirotaka Akira in the game of ALO and now three Cait Syth Girls in the real world of Halkegenia, slept and dreamed, curled up with herself, while she was otherwise keeping watch . . . by herself.

If it sounded hard, that was because it _was_. The other two were asleep and their dreams, and exhaustion, piled up on the one of her staying awake like stones stacked on a raft, but it was what it was.

Not that she wasn't resting as well, curled up with her other two, but the airship was still fully crewed, she was hiding out after all and being fully unconscious, however much easier it might have been, was simply not going to happen with that many enemies in close proximity.

That thought was skin crawlingly creepy and she suppressed it with an effort of will, before it invaded her others's dreams.

This body had taken her own nap earlier, such as it was, only one instead of two sleeping wasn't exactly easy either, as the awareness of the other two being awake kept intruding, but that was the way it had to be.

It had been two days of hiding and sneaking around on the ship, not easy on a crewed vessel, even in the dark and with their stealth skills, and now their destination was near, at last, near enough for what they would be doing. They _did_ need the ship to still be fully rigged for sale after all.

Tonight, the ship would reach Kingsford On Hull, where it would offload its cargo of gunpowder purchased from Gallia to assist in fueling Reconquista's war effort.

She let her eyes close a moment and snuggled close to the rest of her, listening less to the rest of the ship and more to the unified beat of her three hearts. She found their synchronicity incredibly comforting, like a lullaby that was just for her.

She tried very hard not to think, it was something she was slowly mastering when she had to keep one of herself awake while the others slept, because if she didn't, her thoughts would invade their dreams, and none of the thoughts she was having now would make for anything less than nightmares.

For the consciousness that had once been Akira Shirotaka, being reborn as Shiori had been a wonder in many ways, and Akira was very far from horrified by being what she was now, despite the change in gender.

Being able to _fly,_ and _fight_, and use _magic_, becoming super-humanly _fast_ and _strong_, had made up for nearly every conceivable inconvenience.

Okay, loosing her masculinity.

She snorted. As if a fifteen year old shut in hacker had _masculinity._

Being at the bottom of the hierarchy of 'kids bullies can casually abuse' and being rather more of the nail that stuck out than not did not give Akira a positive view of his former gender, or much of an attachment to it for that matter.

Akira had been playing the game as three cat girls to begin with. _Voluntarily_.

She was determined to adapt and not to care.

Just . . . doing so was turning out to be hard. Possibly even three times as hard.

The hacked gender-switched avatars Akira had put together, that had been a pain in itself, editing together and adapting an absurd amount of code from all over the net, had simulated sensory input just about as well as they could, so the reality of suddenly _being_ three girls wasn't quite as baffling as it could have been.

But that simulation was only approximate, and didn't appear to include important things like her constant impulse to pounce and _obliterate_ anything and everything that contrived to look too much like 'prey'. That probably wasn't a normal Cait Syth instinct; Or rather, it probably was, just . . . turned up very high by the way she'd tuned her three avatars' stats. A trio of little predators, that been perfectly tailored, _born_ to hunt and kill.

And multiplied by three, because if any one of her felt it, shortly enough, the other two were aware there was helpless 'prey' _right there_.

At least she didn't seem to be having too many issues with killing, she was able to control the impulse with innocent people, even the ones who pissed her off, and with people who weren't innocent, well . . . The nightmares about the way the bandits she'd killed had gurgled and died had only happened a couple of times and been pretty mild, really.

The other feelings, urges, came and went from time to time were a tangle, because contrary to what they thought ought to be the case she couldn't actually tell half the time what those feelings were. The difference between attraction, confusion, excitement, anger, outrage, hate, arousal, exhilaration and simple physical delight in being as capable as they were now blurred together at the best of times.

Since they were already stressed enough with missing home and worrying about how Nanami would take their disappearance, they tended to default to assuming the urge was to retaliate even if there wasn't anything to retaliate for or, for that matter, _against_.

At least she'd realized it was happening before they'd cut anyone's face off for being pretty . . . which circled right back to the issue at hand.

Her other two stirred from sleep to wakefulness at the reminder of what time it was getting, and they were all startled, it was time already? But the light of the moon no longer crept in through the porthole of their hiding place, so it was.

"Are we really going to do this?" She asked herselves and got nearly identical, eager looks back from the other two, and the other two . . . and the other two as she saw through three sets of eyes, because it seemed they were. Of course they were, they were all herself, after all.

When Lady Alicia Rue had so graciously given them tacit permission to lash out against Reconquista, they hadn't left Tristain immediately; They'd listened, and looked, and asked the right questions to get a good picture of what was going on, and that had been enough to both inflame their initial outrage, and make them worry for the rest of . . . Everyone. Everyone Fae, at least.

She'd discovered at the same time that while she felt next to nothing about executing bandits, she really did feel a kinship with the rest of the player base. However much she might have ganked them before this becoming real, that had been entertainment, Trolling type entertainment, yes, but however much she might have enraged playes in PvP it had been, if not the spirit of fun, then more or less the spirit of competition.

She'd definitely never taken one of their lives.

The thought of someone bringing a war to them, of driving them off the only familiar land they had, out into this new world, lost, or since she couldn't bring herself to trust the word of anyone who would make zombies at all, probably just waging a war of extermination.

It made her mad, it made her hackles rise, and her ears press flat against her skulls.

"It makes us want to get to work." Their mage, well, they were all mages, but with only one artifact level mage staff between them, and no way to hack their stats equal anymore, 'Mahou Shoujou' Shiori was pretty much going to be their high magic specialist from here on out, said softly and got an agreeing nod from the rest of her.

"We have to do our part." Her third self said softly. "Asuna-sama's people were already in the thick of it. We get to help this time." She meditated on that thought, this time, she wasn't powerless, far from it, this time, she wasn't the one standing blindly on the outside, praying for a miracle.

A short minute later, Shiori stood in the center of the cargo hold of the Brimir's Bounty and laid her ears flat in concentration as she leaned on her nameless staff.

It was an artifact, but frankly she thought the in-game name was stupid, and simply wasn't going to use it. For her purposes, it was 'the Nameless Staff' now and forevermore.

They could be kind of picky about names. Their name, for that matter. It hadn't taken very long for her to come to a consensus about their name. They were 'Shiori' and anyone who didn't like using that name for all three of them could just get bent.

Or, if they were obnoxious enough about it, get thrashed. Idiots did rather make them itch to demonstrate their displeasure.

They'd be rather happy to.

Just now, however, she wasn't particularly happy. Intent. Grim. Focused, because what she was doing wasn't something to do casually, but it would nevertheless be done.

So, while most of the ship slept, only a few lookouts on duty, Shiori set her will, cleared one of her minds of everything but the spell, and began to chant.

It was rather simple magic, really, a sleep spell, used to subdue mobs and low level players, but what she was doing now wasn't quite so simple.

It was 'easy' in the sense that doing it once was easy, but she wasn't doing it once.

No, she repeated it, over and over, going through the spell as quickly as possible, eight second chants, blanketing the whole ship except for the other two of her, who were immune both by level and by protective gear.

The moment she started her chant the other two Shiori moved. Silently, effortlessly, and very quickly. Oh, and lethally.

It really was almost demeaningly easy. No one so much as twitched and the two of her doing the cutting shared the thought that they need not have bothered with the enforced slumber tactic for this lot.

Probably. But they weren't taking any chances, not with their lives, and they hit the ships mages first, two black clad winds of steel descending on each in turn, their artifact level blades chopped right through the light leather of the one still in fighting gear as if it were air.

The daggers Nidhoggr's Fangs and the short sword Unseen Moon were collectively the highest level of stealth type burst dps weaponry ALO had to offer, customized as much as possible in the game, and in a real world they were very, very, very deadly weapons and the man may have been on watch, but he was at least partially effected by their third sister's spells.

Certainly he never managed to get off one of his own, and all told, it took rather less than half an hour for Brimir's Bounty to be completely reduced to a Ghost Ship.

Which was good, because the crew would never have allowed the next thing they intended at all.

* * *

><p>Kingsford on Hull.<p>

How long had it been since she'd last set foot in this place? Matilda, once future Lady Saxe Gotha, wondered as she leaned across the railing close to the bow of the carrier on which she had secured passage, a fast little brig named the _Iceni_ that was flagged out of Gallia.

She was rigged mid ship, like most Continental vessels, leaving the forward deck more or less open so long as the crew were not otherwise occupied with tying the sails or otherwise handling the ship under bad weather. It gave Matilda something resembling privacy, and a chance to herself.

The magician thief closed her eyes, feeling the night winds whip at her cheeks and play at a few loose strands of soft green hair, and she remembered.

It must have been . . . over a decade ago now, of course, back when she'd walked in the light as a member of the House of Saxe Gotha. She'd been foolish and empty headed back then, only knowing that she was born to nobility, and loved deeply by her mother and great father.

Back then, she had accompanied her parents on a tour of the Port Cities, when she had first seen Kingsford on Hull, looking out from her cabin window with sleepy eyes, it had looked much like this.

Even on a moonslit night, the port city was like a colony of fireflies sprawled along the cliff faces and coastal planes of Albion, its defining feature, an awesome Yggdrasil Ash Oak, the smaller sister to the one at the summit of La Rochelle, sprawling at the port's heart, its branches strewn with ships and and docking cradles that glowed and flickered like giant lanterns.

As a little girl, barely experienced with flying, she'd thought they'd discovered Medb's Faerie Castle on the border of the clouds. Now she knew better that the place was perfectly mundane, and like all places, its pretty facade hid a much uglier, and more interesting, underbelly.

"Miss? Excuse me Miss."

"Hmm?" Matilda did not welcome the diversion in the least, but she wasn't here to enjoy herself. Back to work.

The man approaching her was the Captain of the _Iceni_, Jacques-Francis Mollier, a whip thin and gaunt fellow who had not seemed in good health back in La Rochelle, the pale moonslight did him no favors, visage verging on that of a corpse. But, Matilda had discovered that despite appearances, he was decent enough, as Captains went.

Pleasant enough company and quite the earnest Gentleman, far more enjoyable to be around than the rest of the passengers, and everything she'd stolen from him had been honestly won by hands of Crown.

More importantly, he was braving the La Rochelle to Kingsford run, despite the rumors of a devilishly swift privateer lurking the skies under the employ of Tristain. That spoke volumes about him, either his bravery, or his intelligence.

"Miss, you need to step down from there now. The men need to get at the riggings, and we can't have you in the way in these winds. The deck's no place for someone not accustomed to the skies . . . "

He stopped as Matilda stepped down and spun about, walking casually back toward him with an amused smile, she made a show of the way she walked a straight and narrow line. Once she got her air legs back, accustomed to the buffeting and turbulence, this sort of thing was easy.

"Ah, my apologies Miss." He gave a small bow. "A frequent traveler? I should have realized when you booked passage, Miss Joplin."

Matilda offered an authentic sounding bark of laughter. "It's quite alright, my Father did teach me a thing or two when we last made the journey together." Father had known his way about a ship, as had many of the thieves, fathers of a different sort, that she had learned from over the years.

"Hard to imagine such a man letting his daughter travel in these troubled times." Mollier's perennial frown deepened. He no doubt suspected she was not telling the truth, but that was more of a safe bet really, she wasn't the only passenger, and to be honest, none of them were telling more than harmless half truths.

Even in War, there were people who had business in Albion. Not all of it Mercenary either.

"Father passed away quite some time ago, him and mother. I am the only one left to see to the family affairs. And besides . . . " Matilda opened her cloak to show the wand holstered there, reminding the master of the Iceni that she could perfectly well take care of herself. " . . . I'm hardly defenseless, Sir."

"Of course." Mollier agreed, patting down his own coat in search of a small, hand carved pipe, he gestured back towards the ladder to below deck, the light of the lanterns flickering up through the open hatch, warm and inviting compared to the pale light of the moons and cold of the sky

"We'll be making port before the end of the night, you can be sure. You'll be sleeping in a still bed tonight, Miss Joplin. Assuming we aren't tangled up till morning at the port."

Matilda knew bad news when she heard it, her ears perked. As a thief, it had only taken one close call, and the broken arm it had produced, to teach her to keep her ears open, always. "Trouble with the Harbor Masters?" She asked quite casually, and not at all with a hint of concern.

Mollier scowled. "Nothing that hasn't been our bane in the past." He grumbled darkly. "But with the Fairfolk, there's been rumor of illicit trade being had, even in the heart of Londinium."

"Oh my!" Matilda brought a hand over her mouth, hiding an amused smile.

It was possible that some of those items had been among the trinkets she'd liberated from Arrun. Nothing too dangerous, trinkets mostly, Matilda knew from casual interrogation of the little firebox that had been following Professor Colbert all about for the past few weeks. She wasn't about to compromise the Kingdom she meant to hide her precious sister in after all.

"As I hear it, it's been quite the problem." Mollier continued as he took to walking at her side. "Lord Cromwell has made it one of the first edicts of his Church to outlaw the sale of Faerie goods, and has dispatched the Army to see it done."

Which probably meant he was stockpiling them for himself, Matilda thought. How very Tudorish of him. As they said, meet the New King, much as the Old King.

"I do hope it doesn't prove a problem." Matilda breathed softly as she held a hand to her chest. "I am expected home quite soon, or else my sister will be beside herself with worry." That wasn't a lie.

They had plans in place for if something ever happened to her, Matilda had decided on that a long time ago, but they weren't plans she was eager to see put into play.

A small look of sympathy grew on Captain Mollier's skull like visage. "It shouldn't be any trouble. The Iceni's cargo is simple grain, purchased in Gallia. We've nothing to hide, and besides, we frequent this port often enough to be known as an honest ship."

That was true enough, Matilda knew. A thief knew a thief, or a smuggler, at least, when she saw one. She'd made a point of avoiding those sorts of ships for the outbound leg of her journey, she didn't need to be caught in a net meant for someone else. As Mollier said, the _Icen_i was exactly what she appeared to be, an honest ship. As honest as a ship sailing for Albion could be, in any case.

"I'm frankly more concerned with those military escorts that have been filling up the ports." Mollier went on as they climbed down the steps. "I can't say I blame them for feeling insecure, after that fiasco at York. Tristain could have sacked the whole City. A wonder they could restrain those vicious creatures they're allying with. No doubt thanks to that hero they sent to keep them in check."

"Oh?" Matilda sounded partly interested, she already knew the whole story of course, told by 'vicious' Faeries recounting it in the taverns of Arrun, and more clinically by Enya as she read one of the Faerie 'papers' out loud for the benefit of Professor Colbert.

"It's a blessing really that they simply made off with the cannons, the way the other Captain's tell it." Mollier said. "I can't say I believe everything about those creatures, but the word from the navy sailors is that they brought a black winged demon with them, some sort of monster that disguised itself before and after the battle in the skin of a raven haired beauty."

"How horrible." Matilda said, not because she much cared, it was simply what she was expected to say.

"Since then, the Army has been a right bundle of nerves. And . . . These new soldiers . . ." The Captain fidgeted with his pipe, at last stuffing the gnarled little thing into his mouth. "You should take care, this isn't the old King's army." She stopped in the passageway, turning so quickly to Mollier that the stick of a man nearly fumbled his pipe.

"I'll be traveling some ways inland." She told him, keeping things vague. "Do you know if there will be a problem?"

The Captain was long in responding, gnawing on his pipe before coming to a decision. "It's the Free Companies you've got to worry about, and bandits in the hinter regions. If they wear a proper uniform and carry the banner of Lord Cromwell's legions, then they're most likely former Army." The Captain tapped the end of his pipe, and without another word, Matilda lit the tip with her wand.

Taking a long pull, Mollier sighed. "Much better." He muttered. "As I was saying, you should have no trouble from the army proper. Lord Cromwell is a righteous man and does not tolerate misconduct from his personal soldiers. The last lot who thought they could rape and pillage in the name of the Good Lord Cromwell found their heads on pikes outside the gates of Londinium. Likewise, the Dragon Knights and their auxiliaries can be trusted, they still uphold their duty as protectors of the Kingdom."

The Captain gave Matilda hard look. "But be wary of the free companies, and the armies of the Peers. The Good Lord Cromwell has had to deal generously with them to regain some semblance of order and they've been running their personal fiefs freely now that the King has passed."

Matilda nodded once, it was the sort of advice she needed to hear before setting foot on Albionian soil once more. As much as she hated to admit it, the Tyrant king had probably done wonders for the White Isldes stability. At least people had known the pecking order and destructive ambition had been kept in check.

"Well then," she started to reply, "I'm grateful for your warning, Captain." She gave a small hint of a bow. "I'll be sure to keep it well in mind once we . . ."

Her thanks were cut off mid word by a trembling that shook the passageway, the whole ship, followed by a concussion that rocked the hull of the _Iceni_ like a giant batting at a gnat. Matilda shot out a hand, grabbing hold of an overhead beam to arrest herself before she was thrown into the bulkhead like the surprised Captain.

She didn't even have time to ask what had happened before they were shaken again, shaken about inside the passage by a mighty aftershock that left the floorboards rattling and great beams of the ship's hull groaning, a noise that was lost a moment later in a deep throated roar, only partly muted by the bulkheads surrounding them.

All other thoughts forgotten, save for survival, the thief grabbed Mollier by the shoulder and pulled. "Captain!" She shouted at the dazed man, looking frantically to and fro. "Captain, snap out of it!"

"What the devil!" The master of the _Iceni_ nearly spat out his pipe. Shouts from the deck above had grabbed his attention now, and without regard for Matilda, he ran for the ladder, his passenger following close behind.

When they got to the deck, they found nothing resembling order, men were running to and fro, grabbing hold of lines, some of which had come suddenly, and violently loose, others, Matilda realized, were safety lines, at the end of which crew were dangling like fresh cuts of meat, blown over the edge by whatever giant's fit had managed to batter over a thousand tons of airship.

Had it been turbulence? A rogue wind?

"Founder!"

The soft spoken voice of the Captain got her attention where the shouts and cries failed. She turned to see what he was looking at, and felt her own heart rattle to a stop. "Founder." Matilda whispered.

It had been over in the breadth of a heartbeat, not much longer than a thunderclap, but the force had been so great that even now, the aftermath endured, the fading glow of flames painted the mists of Albion like a blood red sea, smoke rising, and then beginning to fall as it cooled in the damp air before reaching the top of the cliffs.

"What . . ." She began.

"Powder explosion." Captain Mollier said quietly, regaining some of his composure, even as he worried furiously at his pipe. "Only thing it could be, ship must have brewed up on its way into port. Lucky, that it looks to have been riding low, crew must have been trying to take her under the Isle before she blew, would have been a devil if that had gone up in the harbor."

A devil? The young thief's face paled.

The City of Kingsford was still there, its many lights aglow, as if nothing at all had happened. But not all were unscathed, smoke rose among the mists, the sinking shapes of a pair of smoldering vessels, ships that had been far enough to escape being blasted to kindling, but too near to survive, they were beginning to break apart, even as she watched, their ballasting engines tearing free from weakened hulls. It was doubtful that there would be survivors. They couldn't have been the only ones.

Matilda knew the distances that ships moved at, if those two vessels had been caught in the blast then . . . If that had hit the port . . . She shivered as her eyes fell on the intact and welcoming branches of the Harbor tree, and the thousands of lives that sheltered in its shadow.

Then, another thought came to mind. This could not be coincidence.

"Well then, Miss Matilda." Captain Mollier plucked his pipe from his lips. "I do believe that in the eyes of the authorities, we will be encountering some difficulty."


	14. Chapter 3 Part 2: Dragon Knights

Halkegenia Online – Chapter 3 – Part 2

Albion's greatest defense, more than her insurmountable fleets, manned by the finest sailors the continent had ever known, or a well-organized Royal Army, funded by the vast wealth retained by the ruling house of Tudor, had always been one of simple geographical impregnability.

High ground was the ultimate advantage, and Albion was the ultimate high ground.

That had not changed now, although the Faeries of ALfheim might have done a convincing job of making some people wonder. Albion's position as a fortress in the sky stood unchallenged yet.

And it was the privilege of the Dragon Knights to be the first line of defense, patrolling the cliffs and venturing out over the sea of clouds to keep watch for pirates and smugglers, and to raise the alarm in the case of an impending attack.

The disastrous raid on York and the breaching of the blockade at Newcastle had only spurred the Army and Navy, now under new leadership, even further in their efforts to strengthen the patrols and oversight of the 'coast'.

Watch stations had been hastily established and manned all along the cliffs from Newcastle in the North down to Londinium in the South and only slightly more sparsely along the more remote approaches to the Isle. This also meant that the Dragon Knight Squadrons and Dragoon auxiliary cadres had been reassigned to maintain strengthened patrols as they continued to train and reorganize in the wake of the disturbingly heavy losses that had been suffered at Newcastle and York at the hands of Tristain and their new 'Demonic' allies.

'Demonic', that was how all of the officers at the military hospital had described them, the Faeries that was.

Sir Richard Holland remembered it from his time convalescing after he had been dragged from his quite dead Wind Drake by the commoner crews of a field battery. A good thing too, the healers had told him, if they hadn't gotten him to the field hospital when they did, he would have surely died of his wounds.

As it was, his left arm still wasn't what it should have been for either strength or dexterity, and continued to grow inflamed from time to time. Most of the rest of him was intact, if suffering from varying degrees of lingering pain and weakness. But he was more or less intact, and lucky to have survived his encounter with Fair Folk.

It had been two weeks before he could walk, a month before he had been fit for even light duty and reassignment, and during that time, there had been precious little else to do save listen to Meinhardt and the gossip he brought, and the news, which was usually indistinguishable from the gossip.

The Generals and Admirals, old men who with few exceptions had never lead from the front, after consulting only with their well-qualified selves, had made their expert rulings on the Fae.

Demon spawn, conjured up from the deepest pits of hell, or maybe horrible abominations that had been twisted into life by dark water magic. They wore beautiful skins to awe the foolish, but it was nothing more than a glamour which concealed their true and hideous forms, as had been revealed when their Raven Queen had shed her assumed flesh at the battle of York.

And no doubt the same was true of the demon that had stormed through the Newcastle siege, killing a half dozen Dragon Knights in the process, to deliver the Fallen Prince Wales Tudor to safety. That monster had been said to have succumbed to the wounds delivered by the brave soldiers manning the line, burning away when its sustaining magic had been overwhelmed, yet more proof that they were a dark and unnatural breed.

The Faeries were kin of the damned, the Leaders of Albion said, all save Lord Cromwell who beneficently held his tongue on the matter.

Holland didn't believe a word of it. Blinking as the pain in his arm returned, as it always did when he thought of those last conscious moments meeting the wild, brilliant green eyes of the Faerie Magic Knight who had nearly ended his life.

Someone that beautiful, with eyes that were that scared, couldn't possibly be a devil, could they?

Then . . . just what were the Fae?

He knew his old bed time stories well enough, and even those did not agree. Some claimed they were Firstborn, like Elves, but sympathetic to mankind and the plight of the Founder's Faithful, albeit still Firstborn and prone to their own schemes.

Other times they were jealous, petty spirits that inhabited the same realm as Man while being equally born of magic. Dangerous to be slighted, and unpredictable even at the best of times, as likely to kill as to help, but no more evil than a blizzard or a lightning storm.

And of course, most rarely, they were described as half-blooded kin to the Angels or related to the Old Gods still celebrated by the common people, much to the quiet but tolerant disapproval of the Church.

The last seemed doubtful. If the Faeries were divine . . . well . . . Aside from being heretical to even think such a thing, if they were divine, this war would already have been over and the victor long since decided.

Rather like the match Holland was watching now, standing at the edge of a circle that took up a quarter of the courtyard of the dilapidated little castle that had become his home after provisional reassignment to the Fourth Squadron.

'Crack'

The heavy strike of wooden training swords met and then parted ways, the duelists pushing forward and stumbling back respectively. They disengaged, standing back to regard each other.

Holland gave a small nod. The man leading the fight was obvious, he had known Meinhardt from their first day in the training cadres, tall, handsome and trained by his family since birth to follow in his father's footsteps. Their instructors had said that the only thing that matched his talent was his arrogance.

The fiery haired half-Germanian had only gotten better at both since then.

His opponent couldn't have been anything other than outmatched, small and slight, a recruit seconded from the Dragoon training units, with hair as black as his skin was pale. The man, no, _Meinhardt_ was a man, his opponent was only a boy, and if the Knight was holding back in the slightest on that account, it didn't show . . .

The _boy_ was being badly pressed and without much recourse, despite the odd twin-sword style that had put Meinhardt off form to begin with. It had even won the young Dragoon the first point of the match by diverting Meinhardt's thrust and catching him with the second sword, much too quickly for the Knight to block.

But now that the older Knight had a feel for his opponent, he was methodically taking him apart. He was always like that when it was a contest of skill, all of his fire and bravado was quenched, and the display became nothing but a show of mechanical brutality.

Pitting a boy against _that _wasn't fair, but then, neither was war.

'Hugh . . . hugh . . . '

"What's the matter? You were nothing but fight just a minute ago!" " Meinhardt laughed as he flourished his training sword dramatically.

There was a ripple of snorts and muttering from the observing Knights, a mix of hard eyed veterans and young recruits like Holland himself who would never have been forwarded to such a formerly prestigious unit if not for the severe losses suffered in the past months.

He watched the veterans, some didn't look at all approving while others were nodding thoughtfully. Holland thought to pay them mind, all cold eyed and appraising. They were comrades now, and it would behoove them to make a favorable impression.

The Dragoon was _still_ nothing but fight, Holland decided, watching as he shifted back and forth, bouncing lightly and impatiently on the balls of his feet. Just decidedly more cautious now. Ensign Blair Trayvor adjusted the grips on his training swords and presented the leading weapon as he had at the beginning of the duel.

"Ensign Meinhardt." Lieutenant Wells, a severe blond man, barked from his place overseeing the duel. "This is an evaluation of your swordsmanship skills alone, do not bait your opponent needlessly."

"Oy Sir!" Meinhardt's opponent spoke up in the thick accent of a Northerner, mirroring the full blooded Knight's cocky grin. "If that's all he's got, he isn't riling me one bit!"

"And you, Ensign Trayvor, will refrain from speaking out as well." Lieutenant Wells instructed sternly.

Of everyone here, Sir William Wells was the one they needed to impress the most, the First Flight Leader, and Acting Commander of the Squadron, the new recruits hadn't even met their Captain yet, official business had taken Sir Terrance Dunwell to the Capital and he would not be back for several more days. When he returned, it was doubtless that his impression would be colored by reports from his senior aides, the Lieutenant, and . . .

Holland stole a glance at the woman keeping company beside the Lieutenant only to turn his head just as quickly when she spared him a glance. Somehow, she always seemed to know when someone was watching her. Though, it was a safe bet that at any given moment, _someone_ was watching her.

When Holland had first seen Miss Luttece in the company of the Lieutenant, he'd been fairly sure she was high nobility, no one else was possessed of that sort of casual, breathtaking beauty, or the magic to fake it for that matter. Women like _that,_ he'd been told, were the product of generations of relentless breeding, lifetimes of fanatical grooming, and quite often, some very choice alchemical enhancements, like a human rosebush.

And like a prize rosebush, he'd never seen one in person, until now.

He'd suspected she had to have been high nobility, her hair definitely suggested that her blood had crossed paths with Gallian Royalty at some point in the not so distant past. Bastard blood most likely, if she was serving as the secretary of an Albionian Knight, not that he'd dare to say a word of it aloud, even in private.

She was the second person they needed to impress, and unlike Sir Wells, who made his displeasure known openly, Miss Lutecce wore her features like a beautiful mask, almost like a dragon herself.

"As you were, both of you." Lieutenant Wells directed, waiting for both duelists to resume proper ready stances. "Continue."

Whatever Trayvor had said about not being baited appeared to be forgotten at once, the Dragoon was on the move almost immediately, intent on striking first and striking fast.

Meinhardt, not in any particular rush, waited for the first cutlass swing before countering with a two handed strike that overwhelmed the first sword and threw off the second one handed strike. Sidestepping out of his opponent's path as Blair was left overbalanced, he finished with an almost casual thrust to the flank.

"Point, Sir Meinhardt." Miss Luttece spoke out loud and clear.

This time, the senior Knight managed to keep his mouth shut, not that his grinning like a fool could have been making the black haired youth feel any better.

'He's lost his composure.' Holland decided, and now that his blood was boiling, any chance of using that unique sword style to his advantage was essentially lost. Holland considered himself to be only a novice at swordsmanship, if he could see it, then it was likely that it was visible to everyone.

"Continue." Sir Wells called again.

Blair didn't launch off again, this time keeping back, even retreating a half step in a novice attempt to draw Meinhardt in. The older Knight didn't buy it, years of training left the small feint disregarded out of hand.

A heartbeat passed, then another, the half-blooded Germanian's lips twitched, his weight shifting from his back leg and then resting just a breath too long on his front, Blair saw it too, as Meinhardt stepped in fast, beginning his thrust, the younger Dragoon couldn't help but take the opening.

Holland had never seen a two sword style in person before, though he knew that they existed, or at least, he'd heard stories of them third hand from the traders that worked with the Rhub al'Khali merchants. He could see how the style should have, in theory, had its strengths, especially now as Blair struck out with one blade while holding the second close to guard.

The problem was, it was still a one handed style performed against someone using a sword that could be wielded with other one or two hands, and Meinhardt knew how to take advantage of his strength to defeat an opponent quickly and move on to the next, the opponents in this case just happened to be a single person.

Meinhardt's feint was obvious, at least, obvious to anyone who had dueled him in the past, and like Holland had predicted, Meinhardt's next step had been to take hold of his sword with both hands, not drawing back, but arresting his strike to meet Blair's leading sword.

-crack-

The cutlass was knocked aside again.

-crack-

Blair intercepted with his second sword, only to be overwhelmed, neither duelist had much room to build up power, but again Meinhardt had taken advantage of his leverage and Blair's off-balance posture from the first deflected strike to push through and deliver his second with a solid, albeit more muted -crack-.

"Point, Sir Meinhardt." Miss Luttece announced firmly and almost anticlimactically. A few comments that just barely reached Holland's ears seemed to suggest some of the Knights had been expecting more out of the match.

"That concludes the match. Final score, Sir Meinhardt five points, Ensign Trayvor one point, the match belongs to Sir Meinhardt." Although said without much inflection, Holland couldn't miss the secretary's glowering look of contempt.

"A fair show of your pure swordsmanship." Sir Wells started . . .

"Sir!" Ensign Trayvor spoke up. "Permission to speak Sir!"

The Lieutenant gave a glance to Blair and then to Miss Luttece. "Speak your mind, Ensign."

"What's the point of handicapping ourselves like this, Sir?" The Dragoon spoke between heavy breaths. "Fight like this, doesn't have any bite. We're not going to be challenging our enemies to a nice formal duel, Sir."

Was he suggesting they go at each other with magic? Holland piqued up. That was insane, duels were forbidden in the army for a reason. Live magic drills were always dangerous, and always tightly controlled during training, it was too easy for someone to make a mistake that could kill another trainee or even, Founder forbid, an instructor.

"Your magical ability will be assessed separately at a later date, as you well know." Sir Wells replied sharply. "If that is all, Ensign."

The Dragoon opened his mouth to utter something, but temperance caught up to him at last, biting his tongue. "With due _respect_Sir . . ."

"With due respect, Ensign." Sir Wells cut him off. "When I say 'If that is all', I mean it as a dismissal. If serving in the auxiliaries has not impressed upon you, we are at war, Ensign, and can scarce afford to weaken ourselves in petty displays. Is that understood?"

Standing at the edge of the ring, Holland could see Blair's jaw clenching tightly. "Yes _Sir._"

That ought to have been the end of it. Holland sighed with relief. Except of course for Meinhardt. It was always Meinhardt in the end, hanging his sword over his shoulders with a grin. "If it's any consolation, your little parlor trick wouldn't save you in a spell fight either, if that's what you were thinking."

It set the Dragoon off like a firecracker, practice swords bursting outward in a pair of well-timed strikes that were caught by the waiting, and grinning Knight. They met, and were just as quickly separated, as if the hand of God had reached down and parted them in a blast of wind.

"Enough!" Sir Wells bark drew the attention of both cavalrymen as he held his cane-wand level, it was starting to sink in, even to Meinhardt, that he may have pressed too far. Far enough for the Lieutenant to make his way down the steps of the castle wall, followed by Miss Luttece.

"But Sir" Blair started.

"This is a _training _drill, Ensign." The Lieutenant tapped at his own practice sword. The Lieutenant came to loom over the boy, glaring down at him, jaw set firmly with the mark of his displeasure. "You are expected to learn from your mistakes here. I see potential in you, which is why you are here, but if you can't even keep your temper against one of your own, I will not hesitate to dismiss you. So, once again, do I make myself _clear_?"

Blair looked up darkly. "Yes Sir."

"Very good." Wells nodded slowly, satisfied that he would be obeyed this time. "Now then, for striking out at a member of your squadron, leave is revoked until further notice, you can see to the Dragon Stables in your spare time. In addition, you will stand second watch for the remainder of this week and the next. I hope this will be a reminder."

"Yes Sir." It was a fight, but Blair managed to say it without speaking through clenched teeth.

Wells took a long, low breath. "Very good then, return to your place."

Stepping back from the Lieutenant, the Dragoon carried his swords through a slow flourish and bowed properly. "Sir." Turning on his heel, he marched back to the edge of the circle.

"As for you." Well continued quietly, without giving Meinhardt the slightest glance.

"Sir!" The young Knight came to attention, not quite managing to hide the satisfied glint in his eyes. Knowing Meinhardt, he wouldn't mind much what was coming, even the switch. The Lieutenant would have to be uniquely brutal if he wanted the discipline to stick.

Which was why it was strange when the senior Knights of the squadron began chuckling among themselves.

"Very good showing against Ensign Trayvor, you handled yourself marvelously against an unfamiliar opponent." The Lieutenant said levelly.

"Uh . . . Thank you, Sir." Meinhardt looked at a loss, a first.

"And baiting him like that, I see now what you were no doubt doing. I gave you too little credit before." Sir Wells continued dryly. "This Squadron's reputation is built upon its excellence in battle, which is built on our excellence in training. Every man here helps every other man to achieve his fullest potential. You already seem to have a good grasp of that, it's a marvelous favor you did, drawing out the Ensign's temper, that is, I'm sure it is a lesson he will find most instructive."

From the edge of the ring, Blair glared.

Holland was baffled. Just what was the Lieutenant doing? And then he saw Miss Luttece, for the first time, she smiled. It was not kind.

"As you say Sir." Meinhardt fidgeted uncomfortably, like an animal sensing an impending disaster. He frowned. "Sir?"

"Like I said," Sir Wells supplied as he stripped out of his jacket, retrieving his own practice sword from Miss Luttece. "We of this Squadron must always seek to help each other." Wells lips were set in a thin and unamused line.

It was beginning to look like Meinhardt's bravado had finally sprung a leak. The senior Knights all looked on with mild amusement, like this wasn't the first time such a thing had happened.

Sir Wells took a ready stance, leveling his sword calmly. "I'd like to do you a favor, Ensign."

In all of the duels he'd seen or participated in, it really was, Holland thought later, quite the grandest thrashing he'd ever seen Meinhardt receive.

* * *

><p>"So tell me," Holland asked Meinhardt as he helped the taller Knight to limp away from the infirmary, "Does it take practice to make bad decisions based on bravado, or do they just come naturally for Germanians?"<p>

"Only the well-hung ones!" Meinhardt, not taking his defeat too well, nevertheless managed to force a tight grin and a pained chuckle. "Haven't been knocked about that badly in a while."

Holland was a long time in answering. It was true, Meinhardt had been regarded as untouchable at the academy, he'd even given the instructors a hard time in mock battles and duels. And somehow, he'd survived Newcastle unscathed. The man tended to live a charmed life. Which might have explained why he so easily acted the fool.

Holland stopped in his tracks.

"Aye!" Meinhardt snapped out as he found a hasty seat to avoid weighing too heavily on his bashed leg, the Lieutenant had neutralized Meinhardt early in their duel by striking out at the knee, sacrificing a point to take away the younger man's mobility. "What's this now?"

They'd stopped on the footpath that led from the infirmary back down to the barracks of the Fourth Squadron's accommodations. A low stone wall, paralleling the path, was all that separated them from the crest of the cliffs, and then nothing for a long, long way down to the sea.

The Fourth Squadron, previously a prestigious unit, and still furnished with a large number of experienced combat veterans, had been assigned along the cliffs roughly halfway between Londinium and Newcastle, where they could concentrate on regaining their strength after suffering so heavily against the Faeries.

As part of the general orders in the wake of York, watch stations had been erected every league along the cliffs of the eastern coast, stout towers with attached cabins for the commoner garrisons, scarcely more than a few men to keep constant vigil and fire off signal flares down the line if anything peculiar was spotted. But the cavalry required more than the minimal watch stations could provide.

Stables for one, to house the dragons, and pens for their food which was best kept live. Barracks and storage for the twenty Knights of a full squadron, and the forty some auxiliaries, handlers, physicians, and craftsman that kept them ready to fight. And headquarters from which the patrols could be assigned and managed and communications relayed to the watch stations under their jurisdiction.

The Squadron had found such a place in the form of an abandoned castle ruin clinging to a bluff that overlooked the sky and the relatively sparsely forested lands that spread out in every direction that was not straight off the edge of the world.

Holland didn't know for what war it had been built, or in which war it had been lost. The outer walls had been breached by either magic or intensely concentrated cannon salvos, years of weathering made it impossible to tell which, but despite the damaged fortifications the castle keep, headquarters buildings, and barracks had still been in serviceable condition, save for their badly rotten roofs, and the fire damage that had occurred either in battle or in the years since, the first things replaced by the engineering platoon that had refurbished the place before the Squadron's arrival.

It was a rather quiet station, all things told, and the stone walls tended to grow miserably cold in the night, but the castle's barracks, built to house a full strength company of men, was almost decadently spacious, or at least that was the opinion of a young Ensign who had previously been sleeping with Midshipmen aboard Navy frigates, they ate better too, with the nearby villages to buy from.

He could almost have closed his eyes and forgotten that there was a war at all.

"Sorry." Holland stood beside the seated Meinhardt. "Something was on my mind."

"Mind sharing it with the uninitiated?" Meinhardt looked up at him.

"It's just . . . how did we get here?" Holland wondered if that sounded right.

"Well, assuming you aren't asking theologically . . ." Meinhardt rolled his eyes. "I'd say we were brought up by our parents to serve in the army and then sent to the training cadres where we languished for the last four years. Then a war started and the army needed all hands, our families sided with Lord Cromwell and we followed. I'm pretty sure we were accepted into the Fourth Squadron at some point too . . ."

Holland shook his head. "Sarcasm . . . It doesn't suit you."

The younger Knight sighed, an action that caused Meinhardt's brows to creep up. "Pardon, is this the same Sir Richard Holland who used to regale us with stories of his family's service to the Baron of Adeline? The Sir Holland who dragged himself through four miserable years with that she-beast of a drake just to prove he could ride?"

"She wasn't so bad really." He thought back to his old mount, her half cooked body by now long since parted up for reagents at the very spot where she had cratered into the Earth. "Miss her terribly, I should say."

"That Wind Drake tried to take your arm off, daily." Meinhardt observed with an unamused smirk. "You should have let the handlers put her down and gotten yourself started on a fire drake a lot sooner. They're more forgiving. Except . . . "

Holland scowled. Except the problem wasn't the dragons. Horus was about as well bred as fire dragons came, and he hadn't taken fondly to Holland either.

"So then, Sir Holland, what is it that could have you seeming so defeatist? I'll have you know, that is a capital offense in times of war!" Meinhardt held his stern look until Holland couldn't hold it in anymore and started laughing, only then allowing his own face to split in a grin.

"Nothing like that. It's not defeatism." Holland insisted, or at least, he hoped it wasn't. Setbacks and rumors aside, the general mood that Holland had gauged among the senior Knights was still cautiously confident, and their opinions had inevitably infected him.

With the help of luck, and a powerful new ally, Tristain had managed to hurt Albion more than any foe in recent memory, but that didn't mean this war would favor them. If worst came to worst, in order to win, Tristain and her allies would have to invade, all that Albion's defenders needed to do was hold on to the Isle until the invaders grew exhausted. The difficulty of the former only further lent to the ease of the latter.

"I was simply thinking of what the Lieutenant said about the Eighth Squadron."

Twenty Dragon Knights, reduced in a matter of a half hour to only ten. Nor did the proportion of the losses escape him, by far the brunt of the casualties had been suffered by the new recruits. When that had sunk in, Holland hadn't been able to stop shaking for days. And he was one of the lucky ones.

The Eighth Squadron had been a provisional unit, thrown together on short notice with little regard for anything but filling its roster. Holland had barely had time to acquaint himself with his flight Leader, much less learn more than the names of the men who had died.

He was still left wondering just how it was that he was still alive, when they were not. "Why do you suppose the Lieutenant picked us?" Holland asked his fellow Knight.

Meinhardt became unusually quiet, crossing his arms as he thought. "The same reason he picked the others, I suppose."

"And that is?"

The half Germanian chuckled softly, "Believe me, I wish I knew. Maybe we're just _that_ good." Holland doubted maybe, but not him. "Or maybe he's judging based on experience. Wisdom before youth and all that."

"Like the way he wisdomed you good in that duel?"

"_Not . . . _entirely wrong, no." Meinhardt hissed under his breath. "If . . ."

The sound of dragon cries drowned out whatever Meinhardt was going to say next. The patrol flight that had launched south two hours ago was returning, taking advantage of the thermals that tended to develop around an hour after the sun reached its zenith to carry themselves easily over the edge before touching down in the fields surrounding the stables. Two fire drakes landed heavily one after the other, bouncing once each and then stumbling to a halt. The riders dismounted smoothly in an action that appeared to be nothing more than a continuation of the motion begun by their dragons, sliding free with the reins clutched loosely in their off hands.

Holland squinted, admiring the way that they had their mounts completely under control. Which reminded him. He glanced back to Meinhardt, mouth still open. The older Knight shook his head. "Go on, we don't need a third infraction for the day, right?" He waved.

"Are you sure?"

"I _can_ make it back on my own you know. I'm not a _cripple_." Meinhardt snorted, slapping his right leg. "Though I think that might have been what the Lieutenant was aiming for. And what's he thinking putting me on night watch with that little pepper box he picked up?"

"Probably hoping Blair finishes the job while you're down." Holland mused, ignoring the impolite gesture that he received back. It wouldn't be the first time Meinhardt had made enemies. Now if only he had a better track record of turning his enemies into friends . . . he might have more than one friend.

Though, being a complete arse didn't stop him from being right a good part of the time, and the truth was that they were surrounded by men with far more experience in battle than the two of them combined.

It made him itch, and the only thing that would scratch that itch was addressing his weak points. Which was how, quite deliberately, Sir Holland sauntered his way down towards the stables, the collection of stone and tile hutches where the dragons nested between sorties, housed four to a hutch when they weren't gathered outside to sun themselves drowsily.

The drakes were members of the Squadron too, and despite dedicated physicians and stable hands, their health and care was the responsibility of their assigned rider, first and foremost. Depending on one another in the skies, that was the way it had to be.

Getting close, it was the smell that always dominated, not pleasant, but not particularly disgusting either, more of an intense odor like burnt stone, mixed with hay and a distinct whiff of droppings and sick from whichever drake happened to be ill.

The odor thankfully weakened as he neared the hutch with a large, white '4' painted on its door, which he hoped meant he wouldn't find the mess in his own stable. The dragons were already irritable enough around him.

The interior of the stable was dark, and the air was heavy with the exhaled breath of the giant reptiles. His arrival didn't go without notice, a pair of the handlers, mages, but not trained Knights, gave him a half nod while they worked the wings of a small, female fire dragon for signs of parasites clinging beneath her scales.

The other three in the hutch were also male, and also fire drakes. All three watched his approach, shaking their crests suspiciously and clucking their disapproval, Horus, Holland's replacement mount and a particularly big and mellow tempered specimen of his breed was in the lead, raising head imperiously until he brushed the ceiling. If they'd been outside, Holland was sure the Dragon would be spreading his wings too, to look as big and menacing as he could.

Holland grimaced, it was _always_ like this, always had been, and he'd given up hope that it ever _would_ be different. The instructors had insisted he had a poor temperament, even though his riding was mechanically correct, and he took care of his mount as well as anyone, he wasn't assertive enough they said.

But telling him to assert himself in the face of two and half tons of fire breathing death was just too much. A dragon never bit the hand that fed it, _yet_, and that had been true, even for him, but otherwise, the animals had always been ill at ease around him.

Except, Horus had stopped his agitated clucking and now was bowing his head down until the top of his crest was nearly at eye level. A small, contended cry of -kurrruuun- issued from deep within the drake's throat.

"Hey there there, hey there there." A voice whispered in a soft, Northern Accent. "Hey there there, hey there there."

"Uhhhm." This demanded investigation, first because it meant someone was in his dragon's stable without his permission, and second because they were keeping Horus calm the whole time.

Holland took a step back, watching as the other two dragons shook their crests, but offered no more threat as they saw him approaching Horus' stable instead of their own.

"Yeah, you just have yourself a good lay back down. Good boy. No one's gonna hurt you."

"Excuse me!" Holland peered into the dark, and suddenly silent space. "Pardon, uhm . . . Pardon me. Who's in there?" He took another step and Horus, huffing slightly, half lifted his head. Holland was already cringing away, he just _knew_ that one of these days he was going to be the exception that proved the rule.

But the voice started back up again, and soon, Horus was watching him approach with drowsy eyes. When next his mouth opened, it was simply to yawn before curling up once more.

He saw the source of his dragon's comfort, pressing both hands firmly to the base of Horus' neck and rubbing slowly in a circle. Slight, and dark, raven haired, the boy who had been so eager to pick a fight with Meinhardt, even to the point of being disciplined for his outburst.

"Ensign Trayv . . ."

"Shhh." The Ensign raised a finger to his lips while directing the shushing to Horus as if nothing at all in the world was wrong. "Good boy. Good boy." He patted tenderly, until the drake gave a mighty sigh, curling back up. Only once the drake was at ease did the Ensign respond to his presence.

"Sir Holland, Sir." The boy gave a deliberately slow and easy salute. "My apologies for not answering up quicker, Sir. It's just a right pain in the arse to be stuck in a stable with an agitated drake." Blair said as he reached down to lift a pitchfork that had fallen into the hay at his feet. "Had to calm this big fellow down first."

"Ah . . . No trouble at all . . ." Holland replied. "Just, what are you doing here?"

"Stable cleaning, Sir." Blair replied. From the look of him, dirty trousers and sweat soaked blouse, a rather lot of cleaning. "Lieutenant's orders, I'm supposed to help care for the stables in my free time, Sir. This one needed new hay."

"I see, very good. And, uhm, you don't really need to refer to me as 'Sir'." Holland pointed out. "We're both juniors of the Squadron."

"Aye." Blair nodded slowly. "But you're a blooded Knight and I'm just a trainee from the auxiliaries. I think that counts for more than just rank. You've fought'm, the Fae I mean, heard all about that when I was begging everything I had to get into the fight."

"Fought? I wouldn't say fought per se . . ." Holland said nervously. More like, 'not killed by', than fought, maybe more like 'swatted out of hand without regard for his survival', than fought. "But I _was_ at Newcastle." He frowned, "So was Meinhardt by the way." If that made a difference, it didn't show in Blair's composure, the boy stuck out his tongue, but bit down on any blasphemy before it could leave his lips.

Not that Holland would blame him.

"Then I'll remember to congratulate him tonight while we're freezing on the cliffs. And the night after that, and the night after that . . ." He stopped, letting out a sigh, the tension left his body like water. "Stupid to let him get a rise out of me is all . . ."

Holland frowned. "Pardon me for saying this, Ensign, but you seem much more at ease right now."

"Oh?" Blair cocked his head, and then shrugged. "I get along with'm better is all . . . the dragons that is . . . better than people." To emphasize his point, Blair went on rubbing at Horus' flank. "Dragons are easy, especially a big beauty like Horus here, isn't that right?"

The fire drake huffed and shifted his weight to settle. It was the most ridiculous thing, like a toddler playing with a Germanian Riding Hound, and Holland was sure he would have laughed if not for the fact that it was working. He'd been so distracted before, now he realized he'd never gotten this close to a Drake without the animal becoming disgruntled.

"Wonder what had this big fella so scared? Wasn't a little mouse, was it?" Blair babied the huge, flying apex predator as he went on scratching. He saw Holland's blank stare and grinned. "Ah, sorry, but it helps'm you know. People don't appreciate'm, it seems."

"We wouldn't be able to fight without them." Holland agreed, trying, and failing to imagine a world where the cavalry did not rule the skies, impossible, like pondering a world without magic. Dragons were simply that essential. Which was why he was surprised by Blairs reply.

"Not that." Blair sighed. "That's exactly the sort of thinking I'm talking about. When people see dragons, they think they're big brutes. But once you get to know them, they're actually very _delicate_ creatures."

"Delicate?" Holland wondered, he really didn't see it. Dragons were raised and trained as living weapons from the day they were hatched. It had to be that way, there wasn't room for anything else in their bird brains.

This said as the Ensign circled around to check that Horus was still safely tied down. The boy stopped to put a hand up to the drake's snout, something hard and white glinting in his hand. The Dragon's nostrils flared, and it was only then that Holland wanted to say something, wanted to scream a warning, but before any such thing was needed, Horus opened his beak wide and a long, wet tongue snaked out to take the piece of chalk, sucking on it contentedly.

Blair smiled as he patted Horus on the snout. "We act like they're big brutes that'll kill and eat anything, and we've gotten really good at using them to fight our battles for us. But they're actually very fragile, they know it too." The Ensign's brow furrowed. "They're vulnerable on the ground, and can't protect themselves very well if they're caught by surprise, its why they seek out caves or high spots for protection. And because of that, they pair off early in life, first with their clutch mates and then when they find a mate, they stay with them even after mating so that they can protect each other when they hunt and feed. They're delicate, and they value family. That goes double for their riders."

"E-Excuse me?" Holland felt his face heat up.

"You have to trust your mount to obey you. But that means the mount has to trust you to sit up on their vulnerable back and protect them. We've been riding them so long, breeding them as mounts, they've learned to read us a little, I think, like dogs." Holland listened as Blair spoke, voice heightening in pitch as he grew engaged with the topic. "So if the rider gets nervous, the dragon gets nervous too and . . . " He stopped as if he'd said something he shouldn't have. "I mean . . ." Blair growled, "They can smell the fear on you. Makes them think that there's something they should be afraid _of_."

His hand fells from Horus' snout, the Dragon gave a small snort of annoyance, but otherwise, seemed content to simply watch the two of them. "Ah . . . Sorry about that Sir, I ramble a bit too much. Ah, you do think you can avoid telling the Lieutenant . . . That I like it here?" The boy looked pleadingly, he couldn't have been more than sixteen, or seventeen, still soft featured, like a child, or a girl. It must have been much the way Holland's own brother had seem him when he was a child. "It's bad enough that I humiliated myself, I hate to think what the Lieutenant'll dream up for me to do if he knows I _like_ the stables."

Normally the stables were considered pretty miserable work, Holland agreed, hot, and humid, and labor intensive, all the more reason to be surprised that Blair hadn't stripped down to the waist, instead having removed only his jacket.

"Your secret is safe with me." Holland supplied, grinning sympathetically. It was, after all, still hard work, and he was just a junior member of the Squadron, he had no place in suggesting discipline. "On just one condition."

Blair's look of relief froze.

"That trick . . . to calm him down." Holland gestured. "Do you think you could teach me that?"

"Aye, that'd be no problem at all but . . . but . . ." Blair grew distracted, looking over Holland's shoulder to where a pair more Knights were approaching.

"Sir!" Both Ensigns snapped to attention at the arrival of Sir William Wells and Second Lieutenant Sir Lawrence Secord.

"At ease Ensigns." Sir Wells instructed, glancing around the Stable. "This is your drake, Ensign Holland?"

"Sir. Yes Sir." Holland confirmed sharply.

"A fine specimen." Wells murmured, and then snorted. "We've more good dragons than we've Knights . . ."

"Sir?" Blair asked, it was innocuous enough.

"I've been told Sir Meinhardt isn't too badly hurt to fly." Sir Wells said. "And also that you're a fair hand at reining your friend in. You've flown together in the past, I suppose. I'll put you together as a flight pair for now. Ensign Blair," the Lieutenant turned an appraising eye to the troublemaker.

"Sir." Blair answered firmly.

"I want you paired with Sir Secord as his wingmate. Both of you, be ready to depart in twenty minutes. We're being asked to help strengthen patrols around Kingston on Hull."

"Yes Sir." Holland repeated, wondering just what was happening. When he looked past the Lieutenant, he saw more Knights hurrying to the other stables, and a sleek nosed, Northern Albionian Wind Drake being coaxed from the shade, spreading wings as he prepared to take to the skies. "Is there a problem Sir?"

Sir Wells nodded slowly. "There may be Ensign. Or it may be nothing. All we know is that a gunpowder shipment detonated on its way into the port last night. It was probably an accident, but given the stuff's tendency to explode whenever _Faerie's_ are about . . . the garrison Commander would feel ever so much better if we would assist them. You have your orders, make ready and assemble in front of the headquarters in twenty minutes."

Holland licked his lips. Faeries! They'd fled the White Isle with the Royalists, and now they might well be back.

It was Blair who spoke up before him, an eager glint in the young boy's eyes. "Aye Sir, it'll be our pleasure!"


	15. Chapter 3 Part 3: Three Black Cats

Please forgive the slow updates. I'll probably be busy with Titanfall for the next couple of weeks so there will be a slower update tempo while I unwind.

This was actually a rather interesting chapter to write as it marks the first time that I wrote the Shiori outside of collaboration with Gamlain, I do hope they come across in the way he had intended.

Halkegenia Online v3.0 Part 3

Having grown up on the receiving end of unsympathetic peers, bullies, and parents that had never quite understood him, there were very few things in life that Shirotaka Akira had ever learned to unreservedly cherish.

One of those things, he would admit to himself, had been his little sister Nanami, the target of all of his filial love, who more or less commanded the only tender feelings in his heart.

Which was why, as he rose to consciousness, lingering in that vague, pleasantly warm, not quite lucid state that came just before full wakefulness but after the oblivion of deep sleep, Akira sensed something nuzzling against his neck, the softness of hair beneath his chin, and the weight of a small body clinging to his own for warmth and comfort, and for a moment, he allowed himself to imagine that he was safe at home, in his own bed, and that Nanami, also safe and free at last from her ordeal in SAO, had snuck into his room again after a bad dream.

And that he could open his eyes, and shake her awake, and this time be the one to tell her all about his bad dreams instead.

It was a feeling that made his heart ache all the more because he knew, even now, that it wasn't true.

The last vestiges of his good mood faded from Akira's mind as his, now her, other selves, alerted by her waking, began to stir as well, and with that wakefulness came the subtlest shift in awareness as the only identity that she could feel at ease with settled over herselves.

Shiori cracked open one eye and was immediately met by her reflection in the form of another one of herselves, all curled up like a kitten, still exhausted after last night's ordeal and reluctant to wake up. Nights near the cliffs, even in the summer time, were bitterly cold, and Shiori had huddled herself together beneath her lone blanket for warmth.

The result was to wake in a tangle of limbs, all three of her nuzzled together and very, very . . . clingy in their identical underclothes, shorts, and camisoles, that she'd stripped down to while her clothes dried during the night.

'Now, which one are you?' Shiori pondered. It took her a second to figure out which was which, body that was, like she'd briefly forgotten whether she was using her left or right arm. She'd left her equipment in arm's reach, but that didn't offer any hints.

The confusion subsided quickly, this wasn't the first time she'd needed to sort herself out. Shiori worked out that she was looking through her 'sword' self's eyes at her exhausted 'magic' self which was reluctantly being dragged to wakefulness along with the rest of her. Her 'dagger' self, meanwhile, was peeking out over the shoulder of 'Mahou Shoujou Shiori', head propped up against her knuckles as she rubbed and blinked sleepy green eyes and surveyed their hiding place.

Shiori sucked in a breath, inhaling deeply, her noses expertly teasing apart the scents. The warm, sweet, smell of hay, thick, animal odors, and a whiff of blood that she had to fight down the impulse to grow excited over.

It had been the sounds that had woken her, she decided, the not too distant animal noises of clucking chickens and roosters that had set her ears eagerly twitching, her instincts abuzz with promises of prey, and it was a moment before she managed to fight down the turning of her stomachs at the mouth watering thought of freshly killed meat.

But that would be bad. Doubly bad if she was discovered just because she was craving poultry. There probably weren't many worse, or stupider, ways to wind up getting herselves killed than that. No, for this morning, she was going to have to content herselves on rations.

A barn wouldn't have been her first choice, or even her second, but after nearly blowing herself up along with the Brimir's Bounty and then spending an exhausting couple of hours climbing her way up cliffs without being seen, she hadn't been feeling at all picky.

And it really had been everything she'd been looking for, isolated, quiet, and most importantly, warm after hours spent being buffeted by damp, ice cold winds, as she hid from the patrolling dragons and ships on high alert after she'd set off the world's biggest fire cracker.

Someplace where she could lay in the dark and still her beating hearts, and the frantic energy that rippled through herselves, threatening to pile up and push her to do something reckless. She rather suspected that it was another case of her instincts putting her on edge.

So . . . things hadn't gone quite the way she had planned them, Shiori thought, grimacing as Mahou Shiori rubbed her ears in memory of the deafening noise. Fortunately, none of her had gone deaf. And if they had, Faerie Battle Healing could probably repair the damage, hopefully.

Regardless. She said to herself while herself nodded in agreement.

Shiori poked a head out from beneath the warm hay where she had found shelter from the elements and a safe hiding place for the night, or at least, safe-ish, if worst had come to worst, she didn't think farmers with pitchforks would be much threat. Squinting in the predawn light, she able to satisfy herself that her hiding place was still secure without exposing much of herself to the chill morning air.

Shiori shook one of her heads, not that comfort should be her first concern right now. Infiltration of the island had been successful, now on to phase two. Observation.

With three pairs of eyes, three pairs of ears, and three brains to pick through it all, it was something that Shiori was exceedingly good at.

The rest of her began to stretch and yawn, and went about examining her equipment while 'dagger' Shiori crawled out from the hiding place and crept up to where she could get a view out into the countryside surrounding the farmstead.

It wasn't much more than a patchwork of fields and forests for kilometers around. Fields, forests, and in the far distance, the hazy bulk of the Port Tree rising above the surrounding landscape like a living mountain, and marking out the location of the otherwise invisible port of Kingston on Hull.

It was one of the largest cities in the region, definitely the largest trade city. And where there was wealth, there would be Nobles, important Nobles, Nobles who knew things. Things worth interrogating them for, pretty much.

She might have gone straight for the city the night before and infiltrated in the confusion, but the rough winds had thrown the ship off course, and the grand entrance she'd used to obscure her final approach might have made that . . . difficult . . .

Besides, she needed to make preparations, and the countryside, with its dotted villages, isolated little farm houses and plenty of forested areas to hide, and hunt in, was a far better place to do that.

While inspecting her gear and the clothes she'd left to dry overnight, and at the same time sitting watch cross legged, while she also extracted a loaf of bread and a paper bag full of salted pork that had been generously liberated from the galley of the Brimir's Bounty after she had reduced the vessel to a ghost ship, Shiori began to think about her next move.

Having all of herselves awake made things easier, mostly, Mahou Shiori looked on with drowsy, watery eye and fought down another yawn. But even with one mind, three different brains made it just as easy to pursue three different trains of thought, and also confusing.

It didn't really matter which of her was thinking what, what one saw, and knew they all three saw, and knew.

First, their mission, short and medium term goals.

Short term, simply killing absolutely anyone and everyone aligned with Reconquista who happened to cross her path seemed like a pretty guiltless idea, and highly disruptive to the Rebel Government too, and also likely to draw all of the wrong sorts of attention from their legions of lackeys.

Mahou Shiori snorted contemptuously. She couldn't just walk in and slaughter everything. That tactic didn't usually work too well, even in an MMO.

New short term goal, get acclimated to Albion, learn what she could, and start putting together a list based on who was likely to know what she wanted. It had the added bonus of doubling as a hit list, since she had no intention of leaving anyone alive to warn that she was coming.

Which led naturally to her medium term objective. Dagger Shiori's eyes narrowed murderously.

It could be neatly summed up as 'Kill Cromwell's Necromancer'.

Before departing Tristain, Shiori had taken the liberty of sniffing out what she could about raising the dead, the facts about Necromancy, harder than it sounded given how much of the forbidden art was muddled in legends and superstition, and none of what she had learned had inclined her to believe she wouldn't be making the world a better place by killing its practitioners.

About the only good news was that everyone seemed to agree Necromancy was high class water magic and took a serious toll on the caster's will power. It was one of the reasons why the Continent wasn't constantly besieged by armies of the undead. The other being that they tended to rapidly deteriorate into the sort of 'shamblers' that inhabited a million cheap horror fics.

Seeing as Cromwell had taken Albion the good old fashioned way instead of crowning himself the Dark Lord and raising an army of undead thralls, the chances were good that there was only one Necromancer in his service.

Which meant he, or she, was probably someone very close to Lord Cromwell himself, and very, very well-protected. It might not even be possible to get anywhere near them, as unpalatable as that thought was.

But Alicia had probably known that beforehand, her second train of thought surmised.

In fact, given the deniability of her mission, and the lack of contingency orders, the chances were good that Alicia Rue was banking on her taking the shot and failing.

It wasn't the first time the thought had bubbled to the surface, nor the first time that she'd stamped it out viciously.

The idea alone was enough to put her on edge, setting off her suspicion and deeply ingrained paranoia, multiplied by three as her survival instincts and emotions mingled and bounced off of each other over and over again. The fact that she kept her physical response to a low hiss shared among herselves was a testament to the willpower she needed simply to function.

And not to mention it hit too close to home because . . . because . . . well . . . Alicia was probably right about her. Sword Shiori kept her eyes fixed on the distance.

She was a time bomb, the only question was when she was going to explode. There were days Shiori felt that way anyways. And even if Alicia was wrong about her, it wouldn't change what everyone thought when she was around.

'Like I give a damn.' She thought darkly, Mahou Shiori handed her a piece of bread and a slice of pork to worry at.

If they didn't like what she was, or what she did, especially when it was necessary and they weren't willing to face that fact, then she couldn't care less what they thought of her.

It didn't change anything anyways, if this had just been a way to get rid of her, the threat posed by the Necromancer was still real, and as soon as Alicia had suggested it, Shiori had latched onto the idea with the same tenacity, or maybe obsessive monomania, that had allowed her progenitor self to bring together all of the disparate bits of hardware and code that had made multiboxing in full dive possible in the first place.

If she could make it happen, Shiori promised on the names of the precious departed, she would kill their defiler. And if she couldn't manage that, she'd at least come back with a name and a face, and a body count that would leave Reconquista shaking in their boots.

That only left the specifics, the little details like how she was going to know where to start, or how to get there without drawing a bull's eye on herselves for that matter.

Wondering around Albion in the dark of the night would be easy enough, but that wasn't going to cut it when she got to the towns and cities and started in on her work.

Shiori already had some ideas for that . . . Without thinking much about it, the eyes of Mahou and Dagger Shiori turned to the seated Sword Shiori, while Shiori did her determined best to keep her eyes focused outward on the lightening fields, and the little farmhouse from which she expected someone would eventually appear.

Sword Shiori squinted hard. Shiori knew that it was the way things were going to have to be, that didn't mean she liked it.

Mahou Shiori whispered aloud. But that was just Shiori trying not to think about the . . . problem . . . She shook her head, it wasn't a problem per se, she could deal with it anyways, it was just . . . disorienting . . . was all.

Shiori looked between herselves. Not that she'd ever admit it to anyone, but she had created herselves to be what she considered attractive. Or at least, what she had considered attractive as a male shut in hacker with more than a few things that people considered wrong with himself to begin with.

Bodies small, almost child sized, but already possessed of the trademark Cait litheness. Each of herselves showing the full extent of a well-toned physique beneath pale, unblemished skin, and a definite hint of slim hips and small pert bosoms that didn't need much help from her camisoles to be evident.

It had been a look that Akira had put a modest amount of effort into getting just right, the product of an innocent infatuation with gymnasts, and taken no small amount of dark pleasure in the looks he'd drawn from unsuspecting players in ALO. She'd fast developed a considerably more aloof opinion of her flesh and blood selves after the transition.

Yes she was pretty, no she didn't really care, no she didn't want to get in touch with her inner woman, and yes she had locked herself in her room one night, after she'd stopped jumping at every touch, sight, and sound, and not come out until morning. Oh, and fuck off for asking.

She'd had some things to get used to.

She had gotten used to it remarkably well, or maybe being three girls at once just made all of her other problems seem insignificant.

Whatever.

The point was, there was a convenient way to get around looking like a trio of black cat girls, or any sort of Faerie for that matter. She'd just screwed it up, a little, more or less.

Sword Shiori's head sunk low at the memory, the Shiori equivalent of prodding at a wound to see if it still hurt, just thinking about it set her tail to lashing and her ears to fold back firmly against her skull. A barely audible hiss rose from her throat.

"It can't really be helped." Shiori said out loud by way of Mahou Shiori. "We'll just have to deal with it."

"It's going to be a bigger pain that just missing our ears and tails." Dagger Shiori said as she shared in carefully not looking at Sword Shiori.

The disguise spell Mimic was a must have in every Ganker's spell arsenal, a great way to get up close to victims or follow them around in their faction's safe zones until they decided to leave, at which point, the pursuing Ganker could get the drop on them and make off with the loot.

Shiori had been no exception in mastering and filling out her Mimic spell to the point that she could easily blend in among all of the factions. Testing the spell out after the transition had confirmed that it did indeed still work with all of her recorded forms intact, in fact, transforming one of herselves into a bubbly, big breasted, Puca bimbo and hamming it up as a ditz had made a depressingly effective distraction. Idiots.

It hadn't been long before curiosity had niggled at her and she'd started to wonder 'what if' about Mimic, among other spells. It had been easy to test out anyways, all she'd had to do was wonder into any town that was frequented by Faeries and brush past a few of the local people. It had been even easier than pickpocketing since all she needed to do was lightly brush them with her hand and she was in business.

The whole thing had gone off without a hitch with Mahou and Dagger Shiori having no trouble singling out and scanning a pair of girls in the market before making their way across the border for their eventual infiltration of Albion. Testing the results had also produced satisfactory results with both of her transforming into reasonably cute brunette girls, not identical, but close enough to pass off as sisters.

Then it had come Sword Shiori's turn. Which was where things had gotten . . . interesting . . . more or less. In a twist that she was still kicking herself over, she simply hadn't been thinking much at all about it at the time, not like she should have. Magic had changed, after all.

Sword Shiori grimaced, if it had been all three of them, then it would probably be a lot easier, but it wasn't all three of her, just one bombarding her already finicky mind with conflicting signals in a way that was probably none too good for her continued mental stability.


	16. Chapter 3 Part 4: Among Thieves

Don't like this one too much. Maybe because it's so short? To be honest, I'm kind of improvising this arc since we've seen what happens when I over think things. :p

Anyways, the next chapters after this will get back to Kirito and Asuna.

Halkegenia Online v3.0 – Chapter 3 – Part 4

Criminals. In her short life, Matilda had grown to know them well in all of their varieties.

Thieves, brigands, highwaymen, fences, and smugglers, the buyers and sellers of the black market that existed beneath the veneer of civilization in every town and every city across the Continent. She thought of it as a business, the legitimacy that such a word lent tickled her just so, it was what it was, and criminals, like all businessmen, needed a place to meet, neutral ground to negotiate and deal.

Places like the Hound's Pit Pub of Kingston infamy, founded by criminal necessity, raided upon Royal decree, and relocated more than once in its long and infamous career, its clientele often on the verge of being stamped out in their entirety.

The recent chaos in the Kingdom . . . _Republic_ . . . of Albion had offered them a new lease on life, and an unspoken offer from the powers that be to operate on the gray edges of legitimacy, so long as they did not push their luck, that was.

The privations of blockade could do that to the delicate tastes of Noblemen. Oh how they missed their comforts, Romalian brandy, Khali'd cotton and tea, and the fine craftsmanship of Germanian leather, all things which could be procured on the black market, for a price.

Opening the front door, a slab of iron framed hardwood fit to laugh off a light cannon blast, Matilda was struck full force by the atmosphere, the noise, and the smoke rich air, sweet tobacco and sweeter incense, of the seedy little tavern tucked away deep within the dark heart of the crowded slums, barely more than the back room of a back room.

Her arrival did not go unnoticed. Over a dozen pairs of eyes turned on her, conversation at the tables halted, and even card games froze mid hand. She was an outsider, their eyes seemed to say, and until they decided, she did not belong.

Rough fellows, scarred old mercenaries playing the long game of survival, and cruel young men dreaming of plundered riches who'd likely be dead in a year or two by their own greed and recklessness. They all squinted in the dim light that managed to filter in at her back, like trolls that had never known the sun.

Matilda surveyed the space, even the serving girls looked wary, the corners of her mouth curving up in a small smile beneath the anonymity afforded by her cloak. She could practically feel the suspicion tugging at her, the assumed lack of trustworthiness.

It was good to be back.

"Good morning gents." She supplied in a cool, rough voice. Matilda had long ago learned the trick to making 'Foquet' sound masculine, and that was to make him androgynous rather than exaggerating to absurdity. People were more than willing to believe in an effeminate man so long as she didn't try too hard. "I do hope there's room for one more."

A few unsure men reached for swords and knives, a few more groped for pistols, Matilda quickly raised her hands to show that she meant no harm, more importantly, to show the wand holstered at her side. That was enough to make most of the lot think twice, a mage was not one to be reckoned with, not in a fair fight anyways.

Too many of these men knew that in the gamble against someone with magic, it was likelier than not that they'd be one of the corpses on the floor. But fear wasn't going to win her any favors, so, with only the slightest hesitation, Matilda tossed a small pouch onto the bar counter where it struck with a pure metallic -ringing- of its contents. Ears all around piqued at the sound they loved the most.

"That should cover rounds for everyone." Matilda gestured jovially to the bald, bare chested, and pink skinned man standing behind the counter, looking for all the world to have been sired by an orc. He looked strong enough to wrestle one too.

The tavern occupants muttered and nodded slowly, returning their weapons to their scabbards and holsters, most slowly turning back to their own business, save a few who looked on with the glint of curiosity. The noise of hushed conversation resumed as if nothing at all had happened.

A new arrival, one who was loose with their money, and a free round of drinks, there weren't many easier, or faster, ways to grow accepted among these sorts of men. Dangerous, merciless, reliably selfish, and unlike the nobility on high, utterly unapologetic about what they were. They really were her kind of people.

"Never seen you in here before, Stranger." The bartender grunted quietly on Matilda's left.

"Oh?" The thief asked. "What a relief, then I've been doing my job." Matilda reached into her pocket and withdrew another, silver, coin and deposited it into the bartender's meaty hand. "I'm looking for a Mister 'Greer'. I was told he could be found here this morning?"

The bartender nodded slowly. "He keeps a room. Back table," he murmured under his breath, "The one with his back to the wall."

Matilda followed the barkeep's gaze to a ginger haired, mustachioed man, quietly nursing along his drink, accompanied by a late breakfast of bread, eggs, and sausage. She smiled, so she'd found him so soon. Her luck was improving already.

"Excuse me." Matilda muttered. "Pardon." Slipping between the tables and dancing around servers, twisting between the chairs and their burly occupants until she was standing before the table of Mister Greer himself. This was the man she wanted, she suspected.

The men at the tables to each side suspected it too, four in all, and each looking to be fit to take on an ox. They were beginning to stand and interpose themselves before Greer gestured for them to remain seated.

The men gathered in the Hound's Pit Pub were uniformly of a shady disposition. Some lived on the fringes of illegality, dock workers taking bribes to . . . overlook . . . cargo, others, the usual assortment bodyguards and sell swords. Then there were the men, or women, like Matilda herself, an accomplished career thief, and essential to her illicit profession, men like Mister Greer.

Mister Greer, as he chose to be called, was a fence, a trafficker of stolen goods. Stealing a rare magic artifact or a precious work of art, while cathartic, didn't do Matilda or her dependents any good if she couldn't turn that prize into hard currency, and it was men like Mister Greer who made that possible. Placing thieves like Foquet in contact with buyers in need of 'his' services and arranging both transport and payment.

She'd never met the man personally, but he'd been known to her, by reputation if nothing else, even before she had first departed Albion. Really, any of his ilk would have done, his was just the first name to appear. She was simply fortunate that she'd known people who'd known people to find him so quickly.

Dipping a piece of bread into the yolk of his eggs, taking a bite, chewing, and swallowing, all without saying a word, Mister Greer at last deigned to honor Matilda with an acknowledgment of her presence, looking up with a bored expression.

"I do not believe we've met before." Mister Greer squinted, as if he could peel back the shadows and get a look at Matilda's face. "But you seem quite intent on meeting me. Or so Barkley and his lads on the docks have said."

So, word traveled fast, Matilda mused. War hadn't made the underworld of Albion any less quick on its feet.

"Something like that." Matilda agreed, though not at all the normal sort of business she got up to when she'd met with her fences in the past.

More important than Greer's reputation as a fence was his other illicit activities, namely by necessity, Mister Greer was one of the best connected smugglers to still be operating in the wake of Albion's civil war, happily thriving and making a profit on the misery of others. Well, Matilda admitted, she didn't have any business judging how others managed to eat.

"And as a matter of fact, we've had business together before, through a proxy. The Rose of Catalia?" That alone ought to have been enough for Greer to identify her, and knowing of it, ought to have been enough for him to know she was who she claimed.

"Oh?" Mister Greer pondered this and then smiled. "Ah yes. Then, I suppose you must be Foquet of the Crumbling Earth, or thereabouts. Pardon, I expected you to be taller."

"And you, are Mister Greer, smuggler and fence of stolen goods." Matilda answered right back. "I expected you to be fatter."

The bodyguards didn't like that one bit, all four growling, one going so far as to reach into his cloak for a weapon before Mister Greer started in with a coughing laugh. The smuggler waved his men off once again. "Now, now, that was a compliment . . . of a sort."

He leveled Matilda with cold gray eyes. "I assure you, Monsieur Foquet, the White Isle hasn't been starving this past year, thanks to the good Lord Cromwell's charity, but one and all, we've had to tighten our belts with this war. But I doubt your business is here nor there." Greer gestured to a chair opposite, the one, Matilda noted, which placed her back to the door, and to his guards.

That was the price of meeting the spider in his lair.

"On the contrary, Mister Greer." Foquet said, assuming the offered seat. "My business has a rather lot to do with things while I've been away. I suppose you could say I'm reacquiring my bearings since last I've walked the Isle."

Which was not at all a lie, Matilda thought as she observed Greer, reclining in his seat, the king of his own little domain. Things couldn't be at all the same now.

When last she'd been back, it had been in the dead of winter to deliver supplies to Tiffania and the children, using the weather, and the lull in the fighting that it had brought to her advantage. At that time, the Royalists had still been holding fast in the North, the Port of Newcastle had not yet been abandoned, York was still firmly in Royalist hands, and though the Royalist fleet had been vastly weakened by defection, Kingston had been under blockade.

Less than half a year later and the tides had turned fully in the favor of the Reconquistadors, crushing the last of the Royalist field armies and dragging their few remaining ships from the skies in a chain of failed engagements culminating in the siege of Newcastle Fortress and the eventually the flight of Prince Wales with his tail firmly between his legs.

Matilda snorted, how very like a Tudor to run when he could no longer bully.

Not that she expected his replacements to be any better. Matilda wouldn't have lived as long as she had, as a thief, or as a woman in this world, without learning something about how things worked. The majority of Reconquista were more or less the same wolves that served under the Tudors, just now, they were off their leash.

Mister Greer examined her mercilessly before speaking, a question of his own. "Oh? Has the great thief heard word of something? A treasure, perhaps?"

"Nothing so grand." Matilda smiled in the shadow of her hood. "Merely a personal matter. I have incomplete business here on Albion, and now that the Good Lord Cromwell has taken control, I think now is as good a time as any to conclude it. I _can _of course, make it worth your while if you can provide me with the information I'm looking for, and . . . Possibly where I can procure a fast pinnace and a reliable crew."

Greer was silent for a moment, examining his own immaculately kept nails, a delaying tactic as his mind whirred and calculated. Of course, Matilda dare not tell him too much, but their business was always one of telling only half the truth, and it was accepted that deals were meant to remain anonymous.

"Intent on removing something from Albion then." Greer decided casually.

He was merely speculating, his intention had been to spur a response, something, anything to see if his guess was correct. But Matilda was far from about to give him the pleasure.

"The money is good one way or another." She promised. "Good, and in the possession of some acquaintances who will be very, _very_ displeased if I do not return safe and sound."

Also not a lie, that was just the way these sorts of things had to be arranged. Foquet was a thief after all, he didn't have many trusted allies, but what he did have were clients that were willing to pay in services for their promised goods, safely hidden until her return.

Greer smiled coldly. "To walk into my Town and suggest I'd go back on a deal, watch yourself Monsieur Foquet, or you'll find that you don't have as many friends in Albion as you once did."

"That seems a fair reason to show caution." Matilda breathed with another smile. "Of course, I know that you are in the business of keeping your word, but one can't be too careful in these times when up is down and Faeries are dancing on the clouds above even Albion."

Matilda fell silent, letting her words sink in. Greer appeared unamused. Of course, after what had happened last night, he was bound to have heard by now and drawn his own conclusions.

It hadn't been long after the explosion that the _Iceni_ had at last made port under the watchful eyes of a fully alert and patrolling dragon squadron and a half dozen cruisers, filling the skies with the brilliant beams of reflector focused mage lights and alchemic flares as they swept the faces of the cliffs and the skies all around the port.

It had all seemed like too much to Matilda, a powder explosion wasn't an unheard of thing, and always messy, whether it was a barrel, or in this case, an entire ship. Albeit, a ship full of gunpowder made a considerably more impressive _bang_ than she might ever have imagined.

In the end, a pair of patrol cutters, detached to investigate the suspiciously veering ship, had been blown from the skies in the same explosion that had erased the cargo vessel.

Only after docking, with the _Iceni_ put under lockdown with the rest of the arriving ships, had Matilda learned the extent of the garrison commander's response.

Powder explosions weren't uncommon, but nor were they common enough not to warrant investigation, and on this scale, foul play had been suspected all the same. Made worse by rumors that the stuff was cursed whenever Faeries were about . . .

And to be honest, Matilda thought, that might not be far from the truth. If Enya was any indication, the Faeries had a wholly unhealthy fixation with explosions.

"Come now Monsieur, surely you can't believe everything you hear." Greer smiled coldly. "The Fae are . . . interesting . . . but with the way our garrison commander's are jumping at shadows you'd think they were the cause of all misfortune and depravity."

Or perhaps all hope and unrest, if the snatches Matilda had caught, hastily whispered among men and women in the streets this morning had meant a thing. To the Reconquistadors, the Faeries were simply another complication to their designs on the Continent, another enemy that needed to be crushed, an odd race of Firstborns that would be practice before moving on to the Elves.

The common people of Albion had very different notions, assigning the Fae with all of the fanciful imagery of a half dozen millennia of repressed stories and legends.

Beautiful, timeless, ethereal creatures that walked on sunbeams and cast nary a shadow, misshapen dwarves that could grow into giants at a whim, masters of fate that could see into the past and future, and beautiful women that could change themselves by magic into all forms of beast, or even take guise to walk among humans.

Of course, neither was even close to the truth, Matilda knew this well enough. The Faeries, for all their strangeness, were not completely alien, for all their often flawless beauty, were not otherworldly, and for all their intelligence and knowledge, were not particularly more _wise_ than anyone else.

In fact, on the last point, she'd found them astonishingly childlike, naive . . . unjaded . . . that was it, they still thought that there was such a thing as justice in the world.

The fact that the commoners were so quick to grasp at hope was proof enough, in its own way.

That more than anything had pained Matilda, hearing the legends of the Faeries, and the false hope it would bring. Beautiful, awe inspiring, and in the end, pointless. But in the end, it wasn't her fight, if people chose to believe something that wasn't true, she wasn't responsible for what happened to them.

"So then, the Harbor Master is mistaken?" Matilda asked.

"He is a man under a great deal of stress and high expectations from the Good Lord Cromwell." Mister Greer supplied. "Though I'd imagine in your travels of the Continent you've almost certainly learned more of the Fair Folk than we who have been occupied with Albion's affairs. So I suppose you may know better."

Matilda shrugged as if it was insignificant. "The common people seem to believe it. They want to believe it anyways. As for myself, I'm in the business of it being none of my business." She certainly had no intention of getting caught up in some Faerie adventure or another. "Though it may well be something they would do."

"Well, regardless of whether it is or is not," Greer said, "If you must travel across Albion at the moment, you'll need to be prepared."

"Avoid the mercenaries, I know." Matilda sighed. "They're naught but brigands in uniform."

"Aye, that too." The smuggler agreed. "But not just that. The Army has been issuing travel stamps and keeping a close lookout for counterfeits. Up until last night, you could get by in the south without them, I doubt that will hold true now no matter how that ship brewed up."

"Restrictions and curfews mean little to me." Matilda waved a hand. She was confident that she could get past any roadblocks the army thought to put up. After all, no force could protect an entire city a fraction as well as some of the places she had burgled.

"But I imagine those restrictions and curfews mean a great deal for whatever you intend to retrieve." Greer's smile returned icily. "That is, if you need a pinnace to transport it away from here, you can't be moving anything too small."

Matilda paused, it would be easier to answer with false bravado, and possibly safer, she didn't dare tell a man like Greer more than he needed to know. At the same time, moving Tiffa and the children was going to take planning, it was always going to take planning. On her own, Matilda could go anyplace and be anyone, but with Tiffania and their charges, she was shackled and her greatest strengths rendered useless.

But despite all this, Matilda held her tongue, because the only reason the smuggler would mention it was if he intended to continue on.

"You may, of course, check for yourself. But I happen to have the connections available." Greer supplied. "I could arrange what papers you need for an additional fee . . . well . . . an additional _service_."

Matilda leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table. "I'm listening."

"There are certain Royal artifacts that have come into very high demand since the fall of the Tudors. One of these artifacts happened to be liberated from my associates a short while ago, and I would so dearly like to have it back. I would very much like to hear your opinions, Monsieur Foquet, on a consultation basis, of course." The smuggler raised a hand to call the serving girl back to the table. "As you said, you have business to attend to on the White Isle. I can only assume you haven't eaten yet. Perhaps we can come to an arrangement . . ."


	17. Omake: POE-M Fall

Author's Note: Woh Dudes hold up! This is an Omake! If you want the latest chapter, it's posted right after this one! You can skip ahead to read that if you like and ignore this thing, that's cool, or you can stay and read this first if it looks interesting, don't let the MAN tell you what to do!

So anyways, I need to clear this brain bug out but I didn't want to post it until I also had an actual story update. After playing Titanfall religiously over the weekend, I came up with this. You heard me right, this is inspired by Titanfall . . .

I've been meaning to do a far future Omake for a while now, but I wanted to keep it vague enough that you guys can make lots of wrong guesses rather than giving any hints of where the story is actually going. So just word to the wise, take this whole omake with a mountain worth of salt.

After playing Titanfall, I came up with this.

* * *

><p>"Oy, oy Belgen, are you listening? Time to get up man."<p>

Belgen de Gramont was torn from a beautiful dream at the feeling of a hand rocking him gently by the shoulder. Squinting up in the cabin light at a familiar and unwelcome scruffy face, he just wanted to punch the interloper, and would have, if doing so wouldn't have been likelier to break his hand against a skull like solid granite.

Instead, the mage settled on croaking out a query. "Bish?"

The fiery haired Faerie grinned and patted him on the cheek. "Wakey wakey, come on it's almost time to dive, got to get kitted out and down to the toy box, the Commander's waiting." Turning back to the hatch, Bish paused, "Oy, you coming man?"

"Yeah . . . Yeah, I'll be right there." Belgen yawned as the last fuzz faded from his head. Taking hold of the duralumin bed frame, he pulled himself upright, deck shoes hitting te cold metal floor. Another day, another dive. He gave the cork board beside his bunk a glance, kissing his fingers and placing them to a picture of his fiancee for good luck before following after Bish.

The corridor outside of Belgen's cabin was nearly abandoned save for a faint hiss of air, the buzz of ambaric lamps, and the steady vibration passing through his boots and up his legs. Most of the crew were already at their action stations, save for a few sailors in technician's olives squeezing past in the opposite direction. The mage paused, gripping one of the hand rails and concentrated. "Feels different."

"You noticed?" Bish asked. "Yeah, the Captain switched over to the kerosene pulsers a half an hour ago, about the same time we broke from the cloud cover. Guess we're close enough to sprint the rest of the way."

"Close enough to what?" Belgen wanted to know as he followed Bish down the corridor and waited for a team of airmen to clear the ladder down to D-Deck. That was the million crown question. Why the hell the _Prince of Wales_ had suddenly found all shore leave canceled and everyone recalled to the ship on such short notice. "Tell me that Command is giving us something."

Bish just shook his head and grinned. "Guess that's still covered under 'Need to Know'. Guess we _don't_. Course, that's why they pay us the big bucks." The Salamander serioused up real quick. "You didn't hear it from me, but by our heading and the lay of the land I'd say we're someplace inside the Duchy of Gall by now."

The Duchy of Gall? "Well shit." Was all Belgen could think to say. Was this retaliation for something or were they testing the treaty? And Dad had thought things were going well with the Duchy last time he'd been home. "The Commander's gonna have some explaining to do."

"Tell me about it." Bish laughed. "But first let's get you kitted up."

They hit the armory and suddenly the abandoned feel of the corridor ricocheted into the chaos and claustrophobia of two dozen men and women crammed like sardines into a poorly lit, poorly ventilated locker room barely big enough to fit them and their storage lockers.

Not even deodorizing charms could clear out the stench of stale sweat and oil that had accumulated in the confined space, it had made Belgen gag the first time he'd caught a whiff of it, convinced someone was keeping a corpse in their locker. By now, it was as familiar as his own socks, some of his own stink had no doubt been rubbed into the metal and canvas of the room and would endure long after he left, to nauseate the next newbie through his initiation.

Not paying the smell much mind at all, Belgen opened his own locker, the metal coffin unhinging on lever arms to present his readied gear, combat harness, weapons, and a suit of _Rustunghaut _special issue infantry armor hanging flaccidly by its storage straps, faceless helmet lovingly scratched into a skull visage that hadn't needed a whole lot of creative explanation to someone like their Commander to explain.

First thing first, he stripped down, ignoring the grab ass and snark filled comments of 'shrinkage' from an equally stark naked 'Eva' and Welsh. Welsh because the man was a perfect ass at all time, and Eva because, despite _having_ a perfect ass, he'd grown up near Freelia and the Faerie girl who was now a Faerie woman had been almost like a sister to him.

Belgen wormed his way into the nearly assembled armor and made some small adjustments to the tie off laces on the wrists and ankles, tightening down straps with help from Bish and his squadmates until it fit him like a second skin.

That took all of five minutes.

Next was the harness that fitted over the low profile suit of armor, fitted with his equipment pouches, holster, and pneumatic ascender pack, he left adjustment of the last piece to Bish who could actually see what he was doing well enough to make sure everything was tied down correctly.

"Damn, you know these things kick like a mule." Bish grunted, giving him a slap on the shoulder. "Can't be good for your back."

"That's the price to keep up with you freaks of nature." Belgen rolled his eyes as he did he did a cursory check to be sure that the control surfaces were responding to the shifting of his center of mass, he'd have to get fueled up before he could check the motorized ascender and jets.

"Oy, keep up? You can bounce like a grasshopper, but you can't fly like a dragonfly man." Bish grinned as he pulled his spell-sword and checked the edge.

Only a Faerie would think to take a full on sword into battle in this day and age, and only Bish would be so romantic as to make that sword a _Katana,_ a traditional blade of his ancestral homeland. What more could be expected of a man whose father had given him the facename 'Bishamon' after a pagan deity of the realm of Ieriel. Not that Belgen was going to complain about his friend's choice of weaponry.

The truth be told, they'd fought quite a few things that had bled quite a lot before they'd even thought of dying, and there wasn't much better way to make them bleed than a sharp piece of Fae alloy. But Bish wasn't quite so romantic that he'd only have a sword to back up his magic either, and the very next thing out of the Salamander's locker was his own cold gas gun which he expertly shouldered, making a few small adjustments to the stock before clipping the weapon to the front of his harness.

Belgen followed suit checking his own compact and surprisingly heavy weapon and making sure all of the valves were properly set on the reservoir, firing piston, and low pressure launcher.

His foci came last, pulling the utilitarian spell-glove from its padded box and fitting it comfortably over his off hand where he could use it without delay, even if he was holding the CGG. A pair of spell-flechettes found themselves tucked into his harness, lastly his wand went clipped into his thigh holster, just in case.

They'd been last to enter and they were last to leave, Bish and Belgen squeezing through the hatch out onto the catwalk that overlooked the ship's lower hold. The smell of body odor was diminished here, but the stink of oils and hot metal was even stronger in the freezing air and harsh light of ambaric lamps.

They called it the 'toy box' and for good reason, this was where the Special Armed Services of the Royal Harriers kept all of the fun stuff while on deployment. Special issue weapons and armor, ammunition, wind stone propellant and fuel pogs, POE-Ms, and the landing boats that got all of those goodies between the sky and ground.

The unpressurized compartment ran half the length and two full decks of the ship, and every cubic meter that wasn't taken up by tools and supplies was filled by the weapons that they serviced. Fore, there were the assault boat bays, each holding a twelve man, stub winged landing craft bristling with rocket pods and automatic cannons.

Behind that was the assembly space where the early arrivals were mulling around and killing time, a few having a smoke in blatant violation of regulations. Followed by the armory and the POE-M hangars which also housed the ship's Norn interceptors.

Beneath the catwalk, SAS members were arguing with the vile creatures known as 'Arms Masters' for their propellant and ammunition allotments while POE-Ms were assembled, fueled, and 'sleeved' by their operators before being slotted onto their transport racks and maneuvered into place on the tail binders of the assault boats. Watching the whole process take place, it was a disturbing mix of 'child's play' writ large, engineering, and surgery as the articulated constructs were activated one by one.

"Oy, that's a Mark _Five_!"

Bish nudged Belgen's shoulder and pointed to one of the doll-like and vaguely feminine suits of self animated armor standing as tall as an orc, its gloss black body partly shrouded in fabric camouflage that was being attended to by human and pixie technicians. The torso was currently unhinged to allow access to the shoulder joints, exposing the silicon fiber muscles and magic drive. From this distance it was hard to make out the miniscule pilot sinking into the semi-liquid surface of her control cell.

The technicians finished their work, reassembling and fastening the chest plates, and stepping back as the pilot brought her POE-M online, the armor suddenly going from ridged to relaxed as she assumed control and unstrapped her artificial body from the safety harnesses.

"Latest model. Didn't know we had those."

Neither had Belgen, the earth mage tugged thoughtfully at a lank strand of gold-blonde hair, most of the SAS POE-M's were venerable derivatives of the MK-III 'Daisy' and 'Super Strike Daisy', small doll-like bodies garbed in their mottled camouflage dresses.

The presence of their larger and more capable successors just underlined their obsolescence and made them appear even more out place among the hardened soldiers. But the SAS and its reputation were based on the excellence of its members, not the sophistication of their equipment.

More telling were the pair of eight hundred pound ogre's in the room, two Minotaur like Golems, each three meters tall and loaded down in armor, squatted on their haunches and knuckles near the rear bay doors. The technicians were all over both of them and the heavy spell cannons that ran along their spines to terminate someplace within their mouths.

"Those are POE-Ms too?" Bish whistled. "Didn't know they made them like that either."

"They're army models, I've seen them a couple times before during field trials. Guess they finally worked out the problems."

"Looks like they can kick a lot of ass."

"Good luck finding Pixies that'll pilot them though." As with male humaniform POE-Ms, the small Faeries simply refused to operate something that they did not find aesthetically pleasing if they could help it, and those that did were considered _extreme_ eccentrics.

"Just what the hell do we need those for?"

"At a guess?" Belgen rubbed at his chin. "I'd say we're going to have some serious doors to kick down." Not that anyone was expecting anything less than an assault after they'd been pulled off of patrol and sent hurrying to the ass crack of who-knew-where.

After bitching with the Arms Masters for entirely too long, Belgen came away with eight magazines for his CGG, a quartet of Puca manufactured Spell-Grenades, and a half dozen Wind Stone chips suspended in their stabilizing pogs. Clipping the first of the spring loaded tube magazines to the receiving port on his gun while slotting the rest into his harness like rolls of Pachinko tokens, a hoarse female voice drew everyone's attention fore.

"Attention! Commander Arriving!" A slight Salamander woman, one of the few people in the bay dressed in naval khaki's rather than technician's olives or SAS field camo, swept the bay and then nodded firmly.

Like a well oiled machine, everyone quietly dropped what they were doing to turn, watch, and listen to the raven haired Spriggan who had just taken center stage under the flickering of the overhead ambaric lamps.

The pale blue light did him no favors, accentuating an already tall man's lanky frame and giving his ashen skin a corpse like complexion and staining his blood red eyes to a shade of violet. It really was a look that didn't suit him at all.

The Command raised a hand. "At ease." Assuming a relaxed posture himself, the Spriggan placed his hands on hips. "Now that we've got the formalities out of the way, let's get down to business kids. I'm sure everyone here is probably got two things on their mind. One." He held up a single finger. "'Why the hell we're in the middle of the Duchy of Gall.' And two," he held up a second finger, "What my girlfriend said when I popped the question."

"Actually we just want to know the second one." Someone called from the armory catwalk.

"Yeah." Belgen added with a laugh. "Did Sachi-chan say yes?"

"I decline to answer that at this time." Commander Sir Fujioka "Mordechai" Momotaro de Gaddan scratched at the back of his head. "Partly on the grounds you guys are all assholes who'll hold it over my head next time parade comes around, and partly because I know you've all got a betting pool going, so I also know none of you greedy bastards are going die until you collect!"

The laughter was shared by everyone save the Pilots of the Mk Vs, outsiders Belgen noted, their unit patches bore the golden circle and slitted pupil of the intelligence division. And really, that's all he needed to know. There was only one thing worse than spooks and that was spook _pixies_. Humans and Faeries in that job liked to pretend they were born without a conscience, the Pixies who blossomed into that role really were.

"Now that we've got the humor out of the way." Commander Mordechai waved to a pair of technicians fiddling with the guts of a Mirage Projector. "Gather round kids so we can get down to business. We've got a job to do and trust me, it _ain't_ pretty."

The overhead lights were blacked out, plunging the bay into darkness until a silver light burst to life in midair, unfolding outwards into a pale mist that then preceded to take definite shape, resolving into what Belgen at first mistook for a rock, then a mountain, and then an island. A floating island.

"This is Geoblasd One One Eight Maria, a kilometer plus class intrusion and location of one of the Duchy of Gall's Wind Stone extraction operations."

"Man, I do not like where this is going." Bish breathed under his breath.

"Wait just a second." Belgen spoke up. "One One Eight Maria? So she's a designated intrusion? That means she's covered by the treaty." This really was a pissing match with Gall.

"Right about it's classification, and on any other day you'd be right about the treaty too." Mordechai said, leaning forward to survey the top surface of the island. "But today isn't any other day. We've got the green light to blow stuff up and it comes straight to us from the Queen and Prime Minister with the blessing of the Grand Duchess of Gall herself." Mordechai fixed them all with bloody eyes. "We've got a Black Site on our hands."

And that was all the Commander needed to say for everyone in the room to get very, _very_ quiet. They all knew the story of the last Black Site operation, Yggdrasil Knights had waded knee deep through blood on that one. Nobody wanted a repeat of that. Deploying an air destroyed like the _Prince of Wales_ suddenly made sense. They were going to crush this thing with overwhelming force.

"I've only been filled in on the details recently, so I'll let our contact with CATSI give us the run down on why we're here and what we're looking for. Allow me to introduce Dame Botan Kirigaya de Tarbes."

Kirigaya? Belgen pondered for a moment, a relation to Father's old friend? And also Miss Sachi . . . But with a floral name and from one of the Garden settlements of the Pixies. Belgen wouldn't have been less surprised if someone had told him they were in fact talking about one of the Small Lives, that was, until he saw her. The Spriggan beckoned a second form to the fore, previously unnoticed in the shadows, this one dressed rather plainly in slacks and dark long coat.

If it was a Pixie, then she had to be wearing a POE-M, and if it was a POE-M it was an exquisite one, at least on par with his father's works, in fact, father was the only Golemetrist around who could make a POE-M so breathtakingly lifelike. Cast in the silver aura of the Mirage Projector, delicate, so very delicate, features like porcelain, dark eyes flecked brightly with hints of gold and lips stained a tantalizing crimson. That she resembled a girl more than a woman was only a matter of seeing her from any angle but head on, starring into the full force of her gaze, he was pinned in place.

"Good day everyone." Her voice was soft and the acoustics of the bay were crap, but it carried ,somehow it carried, probably by means of the Resonating Crystal clipped to her headpiece. "I am Captain Kirigaya seconded from the Intelligence Division. I will be providing liaison with CATSI forces on this mission. I will be depending on all of your to put forth your best efforts." A small bow received a bow in kind from the gathered soldiers, Belgen included.

"In regards to this operation, as this is a Black Site, it is off the record, therefore, this mission is also off the record, as is what I am about to tell you all." The Chevalier de Tarbes fell silent, closing her eyes meditatively. "Five days ago, word was received by our consulate pertaining to a Black Site facility someplace in the Duchy of Gall. At first the information was held with due suspicion, but after conferring with the diplomatic corps, it was confirmed that the message came directly from the Grand Duchess herself."

Sovereigns begging help from other sovereigns, never a good sign. Belgen licked his lips. As if the Gallian territories weren't screwed up enough as it was.

"Roughly six months ago, TRIST research documents pertaining to the HEX central mainframe were confiscated from spies attempting to flee the country. It appears that copies must have been made at some time before the interdiction. At very least, we believe detailed specifications for several of HEX's core and simulation blocks have been replicated. This in and of itself is disturbing, but more pressing matters have also come to our attention."

Waving a hand through the illusion of One One Eight Maria, the floating island was replaced with a panorama image of a small farming community nestled into foothills. "The Duchy of Gall has received several reports of mass outbreaks of plague symptoms in isolated communities through their eastern territories."

The voice of the Pixie in the guise of a girl fell nearly to nothing as she swiped through more images, showing the settlement, or one very much like it, up close. Close enough to see the houses. Close enough to see the bodies. Mention of a Black Site had prepared them, it didn't come as a surprise, it didn't stop anyone from cursing under their breath.

"As of this time, Quarantine procedures have proven effective, but casualty rates in the afflicted areas have been very high. This cannot be a coincidence."

The Chevalier's face hardened as she looked up. "Artificially fortified plague strains are a grave enough risk as it is, the possibility that they could begin appearing in greater numbers cannot be tolerated. This facility needs to be wiped out and those operating it brought to justice for their crimes."

Looking around at the faces of his comrades, Belgen didn't even need to know them to know that they all agreed.

Commander Mordechai stepped back up. "As you all should also know, the Duchy of Gall stands in direct opposition to the central territory Kingdom of Gallia. Our own United-Kingdom would greatly prefer that this power balance remain intact as a buffer against another conflict. Not to mention the nice bonus of the Grand Duchess owing us a few favors in the future. This is a straight zoom and boom people, we hit fast, hit hard and make this problem _go away_. Captain Gramont."

"Sir!" Belgen found himself being put quite unexpectedly on the spot.

"You're checked out on HEX architecture, right?" The Spriggan gave him a confident look. Of course, Mordechai aught to know that given their shared time at the military academy.

"The old stuff that TRIST was doing five years ago. But I haven't been keeping up on the latest advancements." Too busy smashing things to paste for Queen and country.

"That'll have to do." Mordechai said without much more than a shrug of dismissal. "Normally we'd have techs from TRIST here to help us pull the Brain, but it is what it is. I want you to get what you can, we need to know how far along their research is. The nice thing about them stealing our technology is that we can read everything they've written."

"Now then, on to how we're going to do this." Waving his hands through the mirage to return to the map of One One Eight Maria, either for illustration, or maybe just to erase the distressing images.

"The _Prince of Wales_ is currently around thirty minutes out from One One Eight Maria at an altitude of two thousand meters. Maria hovers at an altitude of Seven Hundred Meters. You'll be performing a sky dive to achieve altitude. Weather permitting, we'll blindside them and try to neutralize the whole Geoblasd without a fight."

"Resistance?" Captain Welsh, a Commoner by birth and an officer by merit, shifted his weight from his back foot to his front.

"Expected to be pretty light, the place is an active Wind Stone mine though, so there _is_ a garrison force for security." Swiping back though the images, a mirage of an ugly, black and gray brute of an airship took center stage in the air above their heads. "This is the _Gloir _formerly the _Pious_ of Romalia before being sold to the Duchy of Gall. She's a ten thousand ton, second generation cruise iron clad. A tough customer, but the _Prince of Wales _should be able to kick her teeth in if she intervenes alone."

"The real problem is the ground batteries." The commander swiped back to the map. "We don't know where they're placed, but CATSI confirms that there should be three Woestte-Ishimura twenty centimail gun batteries located in camouflaged casements around the mining operation."

"Woestte-Ishimura conglomerate?" Bish spoke up. "Oy, oy, hey now Boss, what the hell are these guys doing with our guns?!"

"They were a legitimate purchase as part of the United Kingdom's aid to the Duchy of Gall." Dame Botan explained as she drew a loose strand of dark hair behind her ear. "The Duchy bought twenty one of these batteries to protect strategic locations while modernizing their sky fleet."

"The _Gloir_ can't fight the _Prince of Wales_ head on, but she could keep us away from the Black Site with the help of those guns." Mordechai added clinically. "That's why those batteries need to be located and taken out soonest upon arrival. Do that, and the _Prince of Wales_ can sky dive in behind you. We'll bring the ship's spell-cannon into range and force the _Gloir_'s surrender. Then it's all over but the crying."

So a raid operation with an assault chaser. Belgen started to pat down his harness.

"Join the army they said." Bish shook his head. "It'll be _fun_ they said."

"We're in the sky force." Belgen pointed out.

"Same difference."

"What about air-cav?" Eva, a tall Cait Syth huntress raised her hand. "This is a Gall outpost, they should have Dragonmares and shrikes."

"Thos'll be up to our Norns to handle." Mordechai said confidently, nodding to the still unsleeved Pixies and their knife like POE-Ms, all flight surfaces and wind stone driven jets. "But only after the _Prince of Wales_ sky dives. No need to tip our hand until we have to. The key to this operation is speed and shock. We can't let them escape or destroy anything that might tell us who's behind this."

"Teams three and four, Eva, Bish, I want you to do a sweep of the Geoblasd as soon as you touch down from sky dive. Pick out those guns for the assault teams and then locate the entrance to the Black Site. Best bet is an old mining gallery on the southern edge. Once that's done, teams two and five, Belgen, Welsh, you'll hit the dirt and storm the place with Dame Botan's POE-M troops."

"We are honored to serve with the grandson of the Illustrious General Gramont." One of the faceless MK V's gave a small bow. "Please allow us to lead the way when the assault begins."

"Understood." Belgen nodded, despite the unnerving company, he couldn't help but grin. "I do suppose this is the first time I'll be performing an aerial assault while underground."

"It shall be a first for us too." The same POE-M replied politely, its flawless mask of silver merely throwing Belgen's own expression back at him.

"Teams Six and Seven, Crocus, Pansy, you and your sisters back up Teams Three and Four. You'll have Minotaur POE-Ms for support. If you need to assault the guns directly, don't let up until they're out of the fight. Once that's done, link up at the entrance to the active mine shaft and keep watch for anyone trying to slip away. Minimum force is authorized to insure compliance of personnel, but weapons free is given anyone who fights back."

The Spriggan looked over the map one last time like a critic summing up a particularly offensive painting. "The truth is we're only a little bit better than completely in the dark here and there are bound to be hang ups. I know it sounds cheap, but expect the unexpected, this is a _Gallian _Black Site after all. That's why I'm off the field on this one. I'll be coordinating your support and POE-M deployment from here on the _Prince of Wales_ along with Captain Kirigaya. Any questions?"

Plenty, but everyone knew they didn't have answers.

"Alright then. Check your gear and go over the maps one last time, you sky dive in fifteen!"


	18. Chapter 4 Part 1: Tag

Sorry for the late update. Titan fall has been addictive.

Halkegenia Online v3 Part 1

A flash of vertigo, ice cold wind in his eyes, stinging his cheeks and then a force like a mighty fist driving him down as Bonaparte spread his wings wide, peeling out of his cloud dive and into a swooping bank to kill speed. Riding high in the saddle, Lieutenant Erwin de Gramont spun his head to and fro in a mad effort to regain his bearings.

It was just past six of the clock and the sun had just risen, at least, from the perspective of eight hundred mails up in the sky, casting blinding gold curtains of light beneath the clouds and above the still dark surface of the world below.

Dark land, dark sky, and dark everything in between. That wasn't good.

"Where are they?!" Erwin called to his wingmate, swooping down from on high atop his own Fire Drake, they fell into formation at once, as easy a habit as breathing, albeit at the moment, they were both sucking in ragged breaths, pulse pounding. Their opponents were not making this easy.

"I've no sign of them!" Sir Vincent Thetcher, formerly of the Albionian Royal Dragon Knights loyal to Prince Wales Tudor, and now as surely in the service of Queen Henrietta as himself, called back shortly.

"Stay on your guard!" Erwin instructed, hardly a thing that bore repeating as he swept the lightening sky, hand brushing back to feel the light piece of fabric that was still tied to his saddle.

Tucked into the shadows cast by the few cotton white clouds in the sky, neither Knight could find one trace of the skirmishers that had been close on their tails only moments before, an accomplishment given the nature of Faerie flight.

There should have been a sign, Erwin squinted. There was a telltale glow to Faerie wings that made them impossible to miss, like shooting stars in the night, one of the disadvantages of the otherwise potent aerial abilities of the Fae. He and Sir Vincent had exploited the weakness mercilessly the morning before along with the Fae's limited endurance, to snatch victory from their more nimble opponents when their stamina had been exhausted and they were forced to ground.

It had been . . . what had Dame Caramel called it? 'Like shooting fish in a barrel?'

Apt enough, even a commoner musket could do that much. For all their preternatural prowess, their magic, their inhuman strength and speed, once they were grounded, the Fae were as vulnerable as anyone else to having fire rained down on them from on high, and the previous skirmishes had thus far been consistently their loss.

Maybe they'd learned a thing or two after their previous humiliation.

Reclining back in his saddle, allowing his harness to bear his weight, Erwin tugged at the reins, coaxing Bonaparte higher on heavy wing beats. Maybe they'd gone to ground early, laying in ambush and recovering their stamina for another go. In that case, Erwin had no intention of giving them an easy target close to the ground, they'd have to waist precious energy chasing him up into the sky if they wanted to approach, all the better to pepper them with spell file as they drew near, patting his spell-sword reassuringly.

He was the third son of General Belgen de Gramont and had inherited the element of fire from his beautiful and virtuous mother, Monalise Alfeba Francine de Gramont, along with her considerable penchant for mass destruction, with the help of Bonaparte, he could light fire to an acre of forest in a single pass, lay a curtain of fire to detonate rockets and bombs as he had done on the night of the Gala attack, or pick off a wave of unprotected commoner infantry if they had the gall to advance without mage support.

But potent as his skills as a mage were, over the training fields, he was limited, forbidden from casting anything save less than lethal deterrents, for all purposes completely nonlethal to beings as resilient as a Faerie in even the lightest of armor. It wouldn't do any good to have someone wind up dead, after all.

'But this hardly makes it a challenge for them either.' Erwin thought.

It was all well and good that the Faerie trainees were responding to practice drills and learning the maneuvers and counters of Dragon Knights and mage cavalry, and all the better that many of them had been blooded, either at Newcastle or in battle against the Mobs that infested the countryside. But that wasn't enough to call them soldiers, not nearly enough.

They lacked aggression . . . temerity for lack of a better word, to use their innate abilities to the fullest. Erwin swept the skies. There were exceptions of course, those to whom the shock and intensity of battle came naturally, most notably among the Newcastle Volunteers, and the Yggdrasil Knights, but on the whole, they were deceptively soft souls.

The instructors had already taken to toughening them up, the screams and curses of Mage Officers filling the yards during morning drill, joined once more by the living bellows that drove the voice of Sir Carmond, commander of the training cadre and liaison to the Fort Captain of the Champ de'Mars training facility.

It was an impressive sight, to watch at least, he imagined it was a good deal more terrifying for the recruits to be confronted by a Salamander only slightly smaller than General Eugene, red faced and on the verge of bursting. But everyone knew that the cadre leader was more bark than bite. For all of that volume, the Knight shook his head in disbelief, Sir Carmond had never once laid a violent hand on the men he had taken to training. And he hadn't allowed it of the mage instructors either.

Training weights, humiliating exercises, added duties on little sleep, all of these punishments were fair game, but never so much as the switch raised against any of the trainees, much less a proper cat-o-nine. That would just leave them soft to pain, Erwin thought, and soft to the strictures of rank. He didn't know what sort of wars the Faeries fought in their homeland to not heed the necessity of discipline more closely.

It was, one and all, nothing more than a second hand play craft of the real thing.

'What they need . . . ' The third Gramont son decided ' . . . Is a good trial by fire.' Not with the intent to kill, mind, but enough that they would learn not to flinch at the charge of a drake, and keep their heads when confronted by spell flames.

In other words, they needed live combat drills, not just these flag matches, they needed . . .

Erwin heard Thetcher's whistle almost too late. It_ had_ been too late, if not for the fact that he had responded by reflex, throwing his weight to the left and yanking the reigns along with him, Bonaparte responded to shift in their shared center of mass by banking just as a dark dart-like shape snapped past him in a wash of rushing air, going fast, too fast to have been anything but deliberate.

"What!"

Still turning sharply, all Erwin had to do was turn his head to see up, up into the dark sky, and the nearly invisible dots that now resolved, falling towards him with impressive speed, and below, a quartet of silver-white wings flashing into existence as the Faerie who had just failed to blindside him, began to arrest their fall.

No glow! Erwin cursed under his breath.

The Faeries had a spell for that too, to mask the light of their wings, but it had its own price, namely, reducing the Faerie flight speed to an anemic crawl that even a fire drake could outstrip. But they weren't flying, they were falling, a simple expedient to get around that problem, and coming down from above the clouds . . . he clicked his tongue, they wouldn't have even needed their magic to hide their wings, at full speed, momentum would have carried them up quite a ways before gravity started to pull them back down.

Clever.

"Thetcher!" Erwin called to his wingmate, the Albionian was his cover for this exercise, the Faerie's needed the streamer attached to Erwin's own saddle to win, which made Thetcher an unwanted obstacle to their ambitions, one who was already maneuvering to his wingmate's aid.

When Erwin had started his bank, Thetcher had immediately begun a turn of his own in the opposite direction, intent on placing himself above his Flight Leader to offer shelter. Meanwhile, Erwin went to work on making things interesting as he sighted down the spine of his spell-sword, a good Germanian pattern, built more for the precise work of a wind mage, it didn't suit him at all, but then, this sort of practice didn't suit him either.

'Give me something I can turn to ash!' He cursed as he breathed his first chant.

Earth magic of all things. Father would be amused, at least. It had been one of the great jokes of the family that their baby brother was the one to take most after their father, his affinities as well. Erwin for one had never enjoyed his studies of the element.

Not that he had any right to complain now, he was the target after all, which meant the diving Faeries had to come straight for him, he could take aim easily, at least, his first spell formed and fired itself, a fist sized projectile of porous red clay aimed at the lead of the two Faeries striking from above. Porous so as not to harm the Faerie Knight, and red so as to make the mark hard to miss, a target that was so marked was not permitted to retrieve the streamer and was required to land immediately.

First shot, then second, Erwin switched his aim to the second Faerie without bothering to see if his strikes had hit home, all he needed was for them to break from their dives and burn up their remaining flight time in maneuver. His third shot grazed past the trailing Fae who had gone from a dark little dart to a fast growing, dragon helmed warrior with a curved practice sword held two handed at his side, the fourth would have hit, but the target had recognized what was happening and adjusted his dive at the last possible moment.

It didn't help the Faerie as much as he had hoped, no sooner had Erwin's forth shot missed wide did the Faerie suddenly go stiff, like an insect striking a pane of glass, before being flung through the air like a rag doll.

Wind hammer, Erwin nodded his approval to Sir Thetcher, why take precise aim when simply battering the whole area would do perfectly well enough.

The Faerie was sent tumbling a ways, the sudden loss of his dive posture ruining his fast downward decent. Bright red Salamander wings flashed to life as he recovered, and instead of continuing his charge, broke for cover in the forested area beneath the two Dragon Knights.

'Which leaves only you.' Erwin returned his attention to the last Faerie, now dangerously close and not at all deterred. Thetcher cast again, trying for another wind hammer, and maybe the concussive spell would have worked if not for the fact that, at that exact moment, the Faerie deigned to open his wings, slamming into the turbulent wall of semi-solid air and powering through at full speed.

"Merde!" Erwin barked as he twisted again in his saddle, pulling on the reins tightly to urge Bonaparte into a roll which became a dizzying dive as the dragon folded its wings, anything to put on some distance and draw the last one on to his tail where Sir Thetcher could take the shot.

This was where things got interesting.

Faeries, for all their small size, were astonishingly capable aerial combatants, their wings while in powered flight behaved less like those of a bird or drake and more like a sort of flight enchantment with each wings supplying a fraction of the Faerie's full thrust and able to vector and maneuver in such a way as to direct that force in almost any direction.

It did wonders for their maneuverability at the further expense of endurance.

In a breath's span Erwin and his mount lost two hundred mails and transformed their dive into forward speed as Bonaparte's wings dragged at the air, meanwhile, the Faerie that had dropped in behind them, flashed smoke black wings to correct himself, now he was in chase behind Erwin and the Dragon Knight changed his flight regimen again, from a glide into heavy, wing beating, maneuvers that would swiftly exhaust Bonaparte, but that was fine, it would wear out their Faerie chaser first.

It came down to energy, Faerie wings could direct their flight with astonishing efficiency, permitting high speed and maneuverability, but they had to take care, the wing surfaces were not nearly large enough to aid meaningfully in banks and turns, not to provide added drag in an emergency stop, meaning that even to simply follow a fast turning dragon, a Faerie would have to use up proportionally more of his stamina.

Worse, for the Faerie in chase anyways, they didn't just have to follow Erwin's maneuvers, they had to forestall them and inevitably end up traveling a longer path at higher speeds to intercept, the other alternative was to lose even more energy and make themselves more vulnerable by slowing down.

Not that Erwin needed the Faerie to slow down in order to be hit. Two more rapid fire clay shots spat from the edge of his sword while up above, Thetcher rained wind hammer blows and magic flung dye bombs at the Faerie pursuer. Good, now they had him juking and too busy managing not to be hit.

A buzzing attenuated voice reached Erwin's ears on a breath of wind magic. "Keep a course due East, lure on ten count." High above, Thetcher was gaining speed and pulled out ahead. Chin tucked into the high collar of his uniform jack, Erwin grinned. This was more like it.

'One . . . two . . . three . . .' Counting calm as ever, no need to rush. Erwin kept the Faerie on his tail busy, spitting out snap shots and slipping in another wind hammer that staggered him, but otherwise failed to end his dogged pursuit. Stubborn, he'd give him that, and gaining ground all the way.

' . . . four . . . five . . . six . . . seven . . .'

Thetcher was well ahead of him now and beginning to roll as he started his split-S while Erwin kept the Faerie too busy to notice. 'He's got to be nearly exhausted now.'

' . . . eight . . . nine . . . ten . . .'

Drawing in the reins while leaning back in his saddle, Bonaparte spread his wings wide, rearing in midair in a motion that killed their forward speed almost instantly, the Faerie overshot in a black blur spinning around and losing speed just in time for Thetcher to complete his split-S.

"Now you're . . ." Erwin began, only for triumph to be snatched from him as the Faerie vanished in an erupting cloud of black smoke. "Merde!" sinking low in his saddle to withstand the buffeting wind that struck along with the oncoming smoke front. Bonaparte crooned in displeasure as the clouds utterly enveloped them.

"Agh!" Erwin growled under his breath. This was becoming quite the bag of tricks the Faeries were playing with today. Swiping his sword with a short chant that ought to have conjured up a gale to sweep aside the accursed Spriggan smoke, he was left less than satisfied when the magic had no meaningful effect on the cloud of gritty particles. Oh it swirled them up just fine, but they stubbornly refused to dissipate as they _ought _to. Even the heavy beating of Bonaparte's wings did little but whip up a string of small vortices.

Faerie magic in action, never a _simple_ solution. But he refused to remain blind in this mess.

Next raising his wand over his head, Erwin cast a ranging spell, the length of his spell-sword pinging faintly with subtle vibrations. The returns painted a picture for a hundred mails all around, empty sky save for . . . there!

The Dragon Knight didn't need to see, pointing his wand down past his saddle he snapped off another clay shot, narrowly missing the white winged Faerie from earlier as they burst out of the cloud cover, swing a one handed practice sword that would have batted the Dragon Rider's own guard aside if he'd been foolish enough to hold his ground.

He wasn't that foolish. Snapping his sword out straight, a single point of light sparked at the end of his wand and then burst. Fire magic, but far from the lethal spells he would level in pitched battle, a mere flash cantrip that dazzled the Faerie and sent them staggering in midair, vulnerable as he peppered them with a shower of clay shot. Three strikes, three -puffs- as porous clay burst and covered the Faerie Knight's plate and leather armor, leaving now doubt that the Faerie was out of this fight.

But they would have come at him alone, and sure enough, the Salamander from before was right behind the first, Erwin's clay shot bursting uselessly as it struck a fire barrier precast and unleashed by the Fire Fae, sheltering him as he rushed in close and was battered away by a wind whip thrown out by Sir Thetcher, Erwin's wingmate appearing from above.

"I have him!" Thetcher reported, batting the Salamander with a another wind whip that was partly disrupted by a wild swing of the Faerie's practice sword and then dispelled entirely as Sir Thetcher let out a yelp of surprise, sword spinning from his hand as the Spriggan fell in from above.

"Erwin!"

"Right!" Hitting the dazed Salamander with another clay shot to mark him out of the exercise, no good would come of staying here, the Spriggan was the one who had cast this spell, and until its effect faded, he would be the only one who could see past his own nose inside of it.

Bonaparte understood his intentions perfectly, spreading his wings to catch the gale that Erwin summoned to boost their shallow dive, this smokescreen couldn't go on forever, and where it broke he could get back out into the clear sky. Darkness lightening ahead, the sun bursting into view, and a dark silhouette erupting from its hart, turning to silver as the light caught pure white armor and six slender wings.

It was Erwin's turn to be dazzled, lashing out blindly with a wind whip, there was a no time for anything else as the Faerie came straight at him, tucking into an acrobatic roll as they clipped Bonaparte's long neck and tumbled free, already behind the Dragon Knight before he had even half recovered.

And with that, a triumphant whistle filled the morning air. Blinking and spluttering, Erwin felt for the streamer tied to his saddle and found it gone. Behind him, riding high in the air, the silver-white Faerie held the yellow piece of cloth above their head.

Erwin stared for a moment, then he shook his head and grinned, the match was theirs. Now to get back down to earth, staying up in the cold morning winds wasn't nearly as enjoyable after a loss.

There was a clearing not far from the edge of the training area, a small meadow in point of fact, where waiting dragons and Faeries would rest and prepare for their own drills, or regroup before traveling back to Champ de'Mars. By the time Bonaparte came gliding in, Thetcher and the two defeated Faeries were already set down after hearing the call that the exercise had been completed.

Erwin unclipped himself from his harness, patting his discouraged mount on the snout as he went. The drake had sensed his disappointment and was none too happy himself because of it. "There there boy, better luck on the next go." He promised. Two to four had seemed like a fair advantage for the Faeries the day before, it hardly seemed sporting this time around. Or so he thought as he neared the stream where the others were removing their gear to wash away the clay and dye dust.

"Puttt ptuii! Gah! This stuff tastes awful!" Was said in a belligerent tone of voice by the Faerie Knight, _female_, Faerie Knight who was presently rinsing her helmet in the fast flowing stream. Ah yes, Erwin admired, and also admired said Knight's aesthetic as she stripped off the heavier elements of her gear, one of the more sensible things about the Fae, they appreciated that the fairer sex were as able to run someone through as any man. "Hey, Vince, you sure this stuff isn't toxic? I think I might have swallowed some."

Rubbing his smarted wrist, Sir Vincent Thetcher, a burly, sandy haired man, gave a small nod. "It should be completely harmless, Dame Caramel."

Both Faeries perked up at once. "That's Ca-ra-mel-la!" Sung, badly, in unison.

"You really swallowed some of that stuff?" The second Faerie, a fiery haired and somewhat thuggish looking Salamander asked as he scratched at a stubble-covered chin. "How'd you manage that through your helmet? I mean," He lifted his own helm and tapped the opaque face, "These things don't even have eye holes!"

"Yeah, don't ask me what sorcery they use to do that." The Faerie woman supplied. "But the helmets are ventilated, you know, you still gotta breath, and you don't want these fogging up on you either." Dame Caramella groaned as she fell back on her rear, rubbing her shoulder. "Those things kinda hurt up close you know." The brown haired woman pursed her lips. "You really didn't need to hit me with three!" Giving Erwin an arch look that was only half serious.

"Consider it a show of my respect," Erwin bowed just as half seriously, "That I thought no less than three shots would be sufficient."

"Oy, still wasn't enough to keep us from a win." Sir Klein grinned triumphantly. "Score one for us." He shared a Faerie comradely gesture with Dame Caramella, the striking of open palms.

"It was our loss for losing track of you in the clouds." Erwin answered shortly without taking his eyes from Dame Caramel. "We were too confident after our success yesterday. Though I must say I'm impressed by that showing, your plan led us perfectly into your trap."

"Plan?" Klein and Caramella said together, sharing a lost look.

"Certainly!" Erwin blinked, mystified. "Diving on us without your wings, the smokescreen, surely that was all set up for your trap!"

"I'm sorry to say it . . ." Approaching at his back, the Knight of silver-white, adorned in sleek armor and helm, still holding her prize, and the Spriggan Knight in nearly identical lightweight, dark Amalgam armor. " . . . There really wasn't any plan."

"No plan? But surely . . . " Erwin fell quiet as Dame Asuna removed her helm and shook out matted hair. Her less than ladylike presentation aside, the lovely young Lieutenant Commander of the Yggdrasil Knight's looked almost embarrassed when she smiled.

"The truth is that we didn't know which plan would work, so we just thought we'd try everything!"


	19. Chapter 4 Part 2: Lessons

So, I sincerely hope this doesn't come off as an info dump, but here goes.

Halkegenia Online v3 - Chapter 4 - Part 2

"Keep your eyes open, Kirito-kun!"

"They are open." A closed eyed Kirito insisted firmly. "I can see just fine." He was sitting up, his posture was correct and his head was forward, he was by all definitions awake 'except' for the part about having his eyes open.

"Kirito-kun . . ."

Cracking an eye, he made out Asuna's clearly displeased frown, the Maeve seated in the chair next to him, head leaned again her hand, elbow propped up on the table. It wasn't like she wasn't tired too.

When they had first arrived at the Champ de'Mars facility, Kirito hadn't been at all sure what to expect from military training. He had a vague idea, based on movies, documentaries, and news stories he'd watched and read in Japan, and to an extent, from his own miserable time practicing Kendo under the tutelage of his grandfather.

After their first couple of days, the Spriggan swordsman had decided that his expectations hadn't been entirely wrong. Waking up early, long before the sun was set to rise, being yelled at by instructors in a hoarse voice, and being assigned to what felt like countless drills and exercises, some which made sense, and some which he had to wonder what was the point.

He had never expected, however, just how much time he would end up spending in the classroom. It made sense, he supposed, and he should have realized sooner just how much work had to be done to fit Faeries into the army of Tristain, and how much of that work would involve studying, classes, and meetings.

Mouth opening wide, Kirito yawned. Getting up early for drills, and then sitting on his butt for the rest of the morning, it wasn't very good for keeping awake.

"The instructors aren't even here yet." Kirito said simply. "I'm saving my emergency energy reserves for when they get here."

Reluctantly opening his eyes enough to gain more than a tiny fraction of his field of vision, Kirito stifled another yawn as he surveyed the room that took up the entirety of one of the camp's wood framed buildings. The classroom was bigger than what he would have been used to in Japanese schools, wider, and longer, with a higher, lofted ceiling overhead.

The floor rose in steps from the front of the room so that the rear tables had a view over those in front, more like a university classroom, and instead of individual desks, there were simply made benches that were shared by four people, set three across and four deep. At the front of the room, a simple table and podium had been placed in front of a blackboard that dominated the entire front wall.

It was a sensible layout, Kirito thought, he'd been told that the room was used to teach officer cadets and Dragon Knight recruits, but that just made it feel somehow too normal, crazy as that sounded, like it didn't belong in this world at all. Maybe if Halkegenia wasn't full of so much mundane fantasy, but he'd seen mage officer receiving a package delivered by _Pelican_that morning at breakfast, the Pelican hadn't stopped pestering and left until it had gotten paid.

He'd had to ask Asuna and Klein to confirm that he wasn't hallucinating, both had declined to comment.

'They use Pelicans to deliver mail order packages . . .' Kirito's sleep deprived brain had turned this fact over and over again. 'I don't know if that's cool or just_weird_.'

"Well, just remember you have to keep some of that emergency energy for after class." Asuna warned with all the authority and poise of her position. "We have a meeting with Lord Mortimer and General Eugene after this. They'll want reports on the new training exercises."

"Right, right" Kirito waved a hand vaguely as he closed his eyes again. "Lots of paperwork." Lord Mortimer had taken his joke about a twenty page report as a challenge. But it had to be done.

Crossing his arms and taking the opportunity to sit back in his chair, Kirito's close eyed frown deepened. "I don't think we're going to have much good to say about the flag capture exercise. We learned a lot about Dragon maneuvers because of it, but it really isn't a very good training simulation."

"That's true." Asuna's voice took on a discourage note. "Maybe we can make it work once magic training has made some progress, but it's not much use right now. Drat, and it looked so good on paper."

"But to make it safe, we had to make it into too much of a game." Kirito observed.

Asuna's answer only came after several heartbeats of silence. "That's right . . ." She agreed softly. Kirito cracking his eye again to regard his wife with concern. "We don't have much time to figure things out," Asuna said with restored resolved, "We can't afford to take anything for granted."

The Faeries of ALfheim were doing something that just months ago not a single one of them would have believed was possible, they were going to war. Joining with Tristain to defend against Albion's aggression and maybe even launching a counterattack to retake the floating continent.

It was something that almost everyone had been talking about for months now, discussion about the war effort was starting to take up big parts of the Arrun Daily in almost every issue, and the message boards were buzzing with opinions.

One thing that was very clear to Kirito was that they didn't really have a choice one way or another. As soon as they had been reborn in this world, the Fae had been destined to oppose Reconquista's ambitions. That had been true even if they hadn't fought to rescue Asuna and the other SAO survivors and helped to save Prince Wales.

But it was turning out to be harder than he had expected, and from much earlier. The problem was that no one was quite sure how Faeries should fit into an army. Fighting a war was very different from organizing raids against other factions in ALO, or even the life and death boss battles of SAO.

Even Lord Mortimer and General Gramont, two of the best military minds in Tristain, had many, _many_ questions.

What were Faeries capable of? How could they be used best? Were they good scouts, or did their limited flight time and glowing wings make them too obvious? Were Cait Syth dragoons better for fighting battleships or attacking ground formations? How strong and fast was an 'average' Faerie? What was their endurance? And how did Faerie magic work and interact with Halkegenian magic?

Those were just some of the questions that they were working hard to answer with exercises like the one this morning and the day before. What worked would be kept and improved, and what didn't work, they'd learn from and throw out.

It wasn't simple, but that was the way it had to be.

The sound of the classroom door opening again and everyone falling silent alerted Kirito, a pair of footfalls, it should be just about that time, the Spriggan leaned forward, his chair coming to rest on all four legs as he opened his eyes.

The room was filled to capacity with both Faerie and human attendants. The Tristanians too, needed to learn more about Faerie magic so that they knew what their allies were capable of, just like the Faeries needed to know as much as possible about the practical aspects of Elemental human magic.

People had taken seats as they arrived, pockets of Faeries and humans sitting wherever there had been room. Kirito seated beside Asuna, Lieutenant Gramont sitting cross armed beside his wingmate Sir Thetcher, and Klein further forward along with Schmitt and Caramella.

The arriving instructors were, in keeping with their audience, a Faerie and a human, and judging by the appreciative murmurs coming from the front rows, and the way that Klein's head had just perked up, one of them was probably female. Kirito was only half right, they were both women.

"Oh shit . . . "The Spriggan's ears perked at the curse spoken under breath by a Mage Captain seated a table over. ". . . It's her!"

'Her' being a severe looking strawberry blonde of average height and build, wearing a no nonsense blouse and skirt, and adorned with half-moon spectacles of the type that generally got adjusted a lot when their wearer was displeased.

A few of the other mages made very softly whispered comments that Kirito couldn't quite make out, but which he suspected were in agreement with the first before suddenly shutting up as the woman swept them all with a gaze that could have incinerated the deep jungles around Muisca with no trouble at all.

She didn't say a word until she was done taking the class in, simply nodding and making straight for the podium where she set down her clipboard and carefully extracted a collapsible wand from her breast pocket.

"Good morning Ladies . . . Gentlemen." She seemed to glare the hardest at the men who had made noises earlier. Three mages in particularly, including the Captain who had spoken first, seemed to wilt away.

Leaning back at the podium, the disapproving look was wiped away as if by magic to be replaced by a pleasant enough smile. "Now then, is everyone here? Nobody is tardy right? Good! As I'm sure you're all well aware, today's lecture is an instructional introduction and summary to the practicals of applied magic theory of the Sacred Pentagonal Elemental Form magic and Magic Disciplines of the Faerie Races of ALfheim. I will be serving as one of your instructors, I am Eleanor Albertine Le Blanc de La Blois de La Valliere of the Tristain Royal Academia."

Valliere? Kirito caught Asuna's look from the corner of his eye. The Valliere family was powerful, but not exactly numerous . . . And the Duke did have _three _daughters. Was that a coincidence?

The unspoken question was swallowed up as the second instructor stepped forward.

The impression of her was like someone had set a birch tree on fire, at the peak of _fall. _There was no doubting that she was a Salamander. Pale, and slight, to the point that her thick, and very messy, rust red hair made her look almost top heavy as it fanned past her shoulders and down to her waist. High forehead sprouted a pair of bushy eyebrows that would have been comical if they weren't scrunched up in a cute frown.

She was dressed in a blood red skirt and short jacket, an almost academic uniform, the sort of gear that most salamander mages had worn under their robes in ALO.

She didn't appear even close to as intimidating as the human woman beside her, in fact, she was almost tiny. Coughing loudly into her hand, the Salamander girl introduced herself. "Good morning to you all, for those of you who don't know me, my name is Enya, I am one of representatives of the Faerie Court to the Tristain Academia and have been asked to furnish you all with synopsis of our findings in the practical applications of Faerie magic." Bowing politely, she finished. "Please try to keep up, I have no patients for stupid people. Thank you."

Stupid people? Kirito tilted his head towards Klein who was in the middle of giving the small salamander girl an enthusiastic thumbs up that went thankfully unnoticed by the other attendants. Wait, hadn't Klein mentioned a girl named Enya before? A mage in his squad during the Dunkirk evacuation and . . .

Kirito glanced from Klein and back to the female Salamander who seemed to be very carefully avoiding minding any attention to him.

A few chuckles rose up from the Faeries in the room after Enya finished her introduction, mostly from the Salamander and Undine Mages who had arrived after Kirito and Asuna and stuck cliquishly to themselves, they weren't from any of the Knight training Cadres, he could tell that much at least, so probably defense force volunteers or mob patrol trainees.

"Oy, Enya-chan, so the Crimson Witch is a teacher now? When did this happen?"

"Is there a problem with that?" Enya faced the seated Salamander, brow curving archly. Suddenly, she looked exactly as dangerous as the Valliere woman.

"It just doesn't seem like you to be a teacher, Enya-_sensei_." The Salamander mage chuckled. "It doesn't suit your personality at all."

"You can go burn in hell, Jiitakasu." Enya replied conversationally, raising her left hand with her index and middle fingers pointed upwards in a gesture that primed a prepared spell, a dangerous little ember of light dancing like a flame atop her fingertips. "In fact, I can send you there if you like."

The Salamander and his small group of fellow mages weren't laughing anymore.

"While you chuckleheads were busy exterminating previously unknown and uncatalogued mob species, and risking mass arson incidents on a daily basis, some of us were getting more productive work done. Things like quantifying the magic system that we barely know anything about but use every single day." Enya waved the flame at her fingertips away and crossed her arms. "Namely, cataloging the attributes of our magic and how it compares and contrasts with the native magic of Halkegenia. Believe me, everyone in the research division has been working hard to summarize our findings, Lord Mortimer and the Faerie court would not have asked me if I wasn't up to the task. Now then, any more questions before we begin?"

There were none. "Good."

Eleanor returned to speaking next, reading over her notes. "Now then, the first order of business is a brief overview, discussing Pentagonal Element Theory will be a review of your school days for half of you buy please bear with it, for now, we'll start with Miss Enya's findings about Faerie magic for those who haven't been keeping abreast."

Nodding politely, Enya accepted a place behind the podium. "Right, I'm sure that just about every Faerie here has a little experience using magic by now. Raise your hand if you don't."

There were no raised hands. Like Enya had said, even those Faeries with little interest in fighting had taken time to learn a little basic magic by now, particularly the Utility Class of spells, originally a branch of noncombat puzzle and entertainment magic, which had become more broadly appreciated in the absence of laborsaving technology.

Even Asuna and Caramella, who hadn't had much need to cast magic in self-defense, had mastered the basic spells by now, learning to channel their magic to cast lights, create small fires and reflective barriers, energize certain magic items, and perform simple elemental manipulation. The beginner spells were arranged so that almost anyone could master them immediately.

And so, Enya looked satisfied that she could proceed. "Alright then, I'm going to assume then that all of the Faeries here can name the basic disciplines of ALfheim magic."

Somehow, Kirito wasn't surprised that Klein raised his hand the second the question was asked. A few more rose slowly, and inevitably, Enya went about picking an Undine to supply the answer.

The slim, silver haired man stood up from his seat, holding a fist resolutely over his chest. "There are ten basic classes of magic within the ALfheim spell system, nine are specialties of the different ALfheim races and the tenth is not affiliated with any faction. Earth, Fire, Wind, Water, Darkness, Shadow, Enchantment, Music, Nature, and Holy."

As the Undine spoke, Enya occupied herself with writing out the list of magic types on the board, first in earth script and then in the Halkegenian standard alphabet for the benefit of the human mages.

The result was ten neat rows of laser-leveled handwriting that became only slightly sloppier when copying the unfamiliar Tristanian letters.

A murmur rose up from the Tristanian mages as Enya finished writing on the board. The noises weren't hostile, but they didn't sound pleased either. It was because of what had just been said, Kirito mused, Halkegenian mages took their magic system almost as a dogma, one that just happened to be able to get tangible results. Faerie magic, like the magic used by Firstborns and Spirits, must have been seen as verging on the sacrilegious.

"Pardon me." Sir Thetcher raised a hand and waited to speak.

"Yes?"

"If I may be so bold, you referred to the magics of ALfheim by discipline just now, not element? Was this deliberate, or was it an error with your Gift of Tongues?"

Eyes returned to Enya, the small salamander's expression holding a satisfied glint. "I'm happy that someone was paying attention. ALO's lore refers to the different magic types as elements, and it isn't a bad way to describe them, but among the Academia and independent researchers, we've started to think of them as _disciplines_ because of the variety of overlaps from element to element. For instance," Enya sketched out a stick figure with stylized Sylph wings and scribbled in a lightning bolt striking, and frying, a Dragon Knight. "Wind magic is the basis of the Faerie spell Fenrir Storm, which delivers an ultra-high voltage electrical attack by means of a plasma medium, in other words, a lightning strike."

Enya remained silent as what she had said was allowed to sink in. After being on the receiving end of a Halkegenia-style lightning attack, Kirito was pretty sure he knew what the mages were all thinking. Among Halkegenian magic, manipulating electricity was an exceedingly rare ability, but for Faeries it was just a standard, albeit high level, spell.

Satisfied that she had their undivided attention, the Salamander went on, sketching a stick figure with Salamander wings producing a giant of flames to burn a stick skeleton to ashes.

"But unlike Halkegenia's elements our Fire magic can achieve a similar effect with the close range single target spell Plasmoid Spear. From experiments we can safely say that both spells achieve their effects by different physical phenomena but have similar results in creating and directing a high energy and extremely devastating plasma."

Spinning back to face the classroom she concluded. "This isn't the only overlap either. All of the racial aligned magic can be used to cast barriers and single target attack spells effectively, and more esoteric spells like Searching Tracer, Scanner, and Peeper are available across all disciplines. Most notably, both Darkness and Holy magics possess clairvoyance related spells and Holy magic shares healing abilities with Water Magic."

"I've been informed that Sacred Elemental magic is usually considered the imposition of the users will on the world by means of harnessing the elements which they then direct on their behalf. So it would therefore be deceptive to use the term element to describe what each of the Faerie magics governs and it is better for now to think of them as different disciplines, each comprising a theme. Does that explain the question?"

Sir Thetcher blinked owlishly as he absorbed the information like a punch to the chest, visibly rocking back in his seat. "Y-yes, I do believe that is good enough. Quite a bit more detailed than I was expecting."

"Of course." Enya admitted calmly. "This is simply conjecture based on studying patterns in the spell language and observing the phenomena that result. Now then, ten points for being able to name the ten basic disciplines, that's like remembering to breath while walking . . . "

"As you all no doubt also know, each of these magics with the exception of Holy Magic is associated with one of the Faerie Races who possess its elemental affinity. Wind Magic is the Domain of Sylphs, Fire Magic belongs to us Salamanders, Earth Magic is Gnomes, and Water Magic is Undines. Those are all pretty self-explanatory and follow the usual fantasy tropes."

"Now." The Salamander rubbed at the bridge of her nose. "This is where things get interesting. The Cait Syth have a truncated spell list comprising Nature Magic which is pretty environmentally dependent and includes spells that are very effective at manipulating mobs and wild beasts. This complements their natural aptitudes as beast tamers almost perfectly."

The handful of cat ears in the room perked in delight.

"Puca have their Music Magic, which other than sounding absolutely awesome, is the best at casting wide area buffs and debuffs along with a wide range of other status effects. Even better, Pucas can Harmonize their music to amplify their magic even further in groups, and when led by a Maestro, every musician following her lead benefits from the Maestro's casting efficiency."

Kirito blinked as he sat back in his chair, he'd known that Pucas got stronger when casting as part of a band, which was why they were always kept together rather than being divided up for Mob patrols, but the comment about a Maestro had been news to him. It explain why Noel, the Puca watch Captain, always had a mage-like wand on her person.

"Leprechauns are a bit more unusual still, their specialty is smithing and crafting and their magic affinities have almost everything to do with Enchantments."

"Powerful elemental enhancements." Lieutenant Gramont muttered seriously.

"Thank you so much for doing my job for me." Enya's eyelids drooped dangerously. "But that's not incorrect. Enchantments can provide temporary improvements to materials like weapons and armor, or as we've discovered in our experiments, other inanimate materials such as the walls of castles and hulls of warships. Leprechauns can also temporarily imbue weapons with elemental properties and create durable magic enhancements by combining spell casting with their crafting."

Which would probably make Liz happy, Kirito thought, she'd always joked about making an authentic 'magic' sword in SAO, now she'd really have the opportunity.

"That leaves Spriggans and Imps and their affinities of Shadow and Darkness Magic respectively."

Kirito was all ears for this part. Too many close calls had finally convinced him to buckle down and take Suguha's often repeated advice to become familiar with magic. He'd been reluctant at first after his experiment with Mimic, which had been stupid on his part, and then letting himself get distracted as things unfolded hadn't helped much either.

It would have been excusable in ALO where the point was to have fun and death had no consequence but a reduction in stats, he probably would have focused entirely on his swordsmanship and trying to replicate his Aincrad play style if that were still the case, but that sort of thinking would just get him, and other people, killed.

Kirito watched Asuna, focusing intently on every word. Her old drive had really come out since they'd arrived for training and he knew she had every intention of fighting with all of her strength. He'd resolved to use every tool at his disposal from now on.

"And don't ask why two different magic types have similar names, I didn't come up with them." Enya said. "Shadow magic is the specialty of Spriggans and governs illusion spells as well as a wide range of constructs. Smoke screens, shadow clones, optical illusions, altering physical forms, and transforming into beasts are all governed by this type of magic. In particular, anyone whose studied up on the transmogrification type spells probably knows by now that Bestial Form has become even nastier in this real world, so it's apparently not a complete waste of time to learn it if you've got decent stats, just mind winding up in the buff."

The fire mage who Enya had called Jiitakasu was looking decidedly paler now, and again, Kirito felt familiarity nag at him. He was sure they'd met before.

"Which brings us to the Imp specialty, Darkness Magic, or as Darkness mages like to call it, bottled chaos. I'm sure anyone who had picked a fight with the Imps or a renegade Gank squad knows that Darkness Magic covers a wide range of destructive and status effect spells, and esoteric magic like the rapid linear movement spell Blink. This is a very destructive magic, and some are also very difficult to use safely when they aren't outright suicide spells."

A lot of the Halkegenians were growing uncomfortable again. Darkness magic really hadn't gotten a very good reputation in Halkegenia and it was problem that only partly due to its sinister name. The fact that it was a magic style preferred for its destructive element and that it was most often wielded by Imps, who bore an uncanny resemblance to native Vampires, definitely didn't help either.

"Don't give me that look!" Enya declared smartly. "Darkness Magic has a lot more going for it. For one thing, Clairvoyance type spells like Moonlight Mirror and Astral Projection are also part of Darkness Magic and some of the strongest spells in ALfheim are in its domain."

"That leaves the unaligned discipline, Holy Magic, which comprises non-elemental spells and certain types of healing and purification magic. Mostly though, it's a magic that enhances or adds properties to other types of magic. The highest level of Darkness Magic spells are actually reached by combining with this element, and resurrection magic used to be a combination of Water and Holy type Magic as well. Those spells may not be able to bring back the dearly departed anymore, but they can still draw you back from death's door so don't underestimate them!"

"Now that we have the basic disciplines of magic all account for." The Salamander girl pointed a finger back to the Undine who had answered her first question. "You said ten basic classes." Enya answered with another question. "So what are the non-basic classes?"

The Undine paused and then grimaced. "Pardon?"

"There are the ten basic disciplines, and there are also advanced disciplines that come from combining more than one, what are they?"

The man didn't answer, beginning to fidget.

"Never mind." Enya sighed. "Next person."

There were considerably fewer raised hands this time around, those that remained were inevitably among the mage build players. "Jun." Enya pointed to one of the companions of the Salamander who had spoken earlier, a slight and effeminate boy that Kirito thought looked naggingly familiar.

"It's a trick question." Jun supplied as soon as he was called and then corrected by adding, "Well, not a trick question exactly, all of the different magic disciplines can be combined with spells from at least one other discipline, so there are at least one hundred sub classes of spells, but . . ."

"There aren't nearly that many sub classes in the official spell lists." Enya agreed. "There are also boss-only spells that can combine magic properties of three or more magic disciplines which probably means that even more complex spells are possible and may have even been hidden in ALO as special rewards for people who completed hidden quests or cracked the language code. But I digress," The fiery little Salamander turned sharply on her heel to pace beside the board, "The important things to take from this is that there are two classes of spell, mono and composite types and how these further complicate magic progression. In addition there are advanced specialties of the mono type spells, like lightning magic, which can also be considered separately."

"In ALO it was well known that when a spell caster's magic level increased, the mana consumption for lower level spells in their discipline diminished in turn. This seems to be true now as well, experienced magic users can cast many more times before exhaustion begins to set in and they can no longer form their magic. We have had reported cases of people managing to overcome this limit and continue casting under extreme circumstances but the side-effects have ranged from nausea and vomiting all the way up to unconsciousness and severe hemorrhaging from the nose, ears, and eyes. Please do not try to replicate their stupidity! I really don't want see someone adding death to that list."

"With that said, the fastest way to gain useful proficiency in magic is to pick a discipline and start practicing." Reaching for a parcel she had left on the front table, the Salamander held up a small, simply bound booklet that Kirito had grown to know very well recently having received the first edition for free from the author. "You should all have had one of these issued when you arrived." Enya pointed to the title.

'Beginner's Magic Vol. 1: Don't Worry It's Argo's Grimoire!'

"I happen to have helped the author put this together, its full of good stuff, I especially like the mnemonics that she came up with for memorizing the spells and the visualization techniques that she's described to help perform them properly. It's a lot like the suggested spell list that's been posted in towns, you should all have no difficulty using them safely. There are ten basic spells from each of the ten magic types, and ten shared spells that you all should be sure to know."

Enya looked up, sweeping the room with a serious gaze. "I'm not going to tell anyone which magic type to choose as their focus during training, just that you're an idiot if you don't develop your affinity before branching too far into the other magic types. Practice for the next four weeks will be gaining perfect mastery of the ten general spells and ten spells of your chosen discipline. Make sense? Any questions?"

Klein was one of the first hands up again, this time Enya picked him. "Yes?"

"Oy, I just wanted to ask, Enya-ch . . . Sensei. You said you were studying patterns in the Spell Language and that some spells might be hidden as rewards for people who figured it out. Does that mean people could, like, make up their own spells?"

A ripple of curious murmurs rose up all over the room. It had definitely been talked about before. Speculating about magic, either idle theorizing, or outright experimentation in the case of the more reckless, was practically a pastime for some Faeries. Kirito hadn't heard of anyone making a break through, but if Enya was trusted by the Faerie Court she was probably the closest thing they had to an expert on the subject.

"That's difficult to answer at this time." Enya replied shortly. "Given the shear level of realization of the rest of ALfheim, it's definitely a possibility. My colleagues and I have been researching the magic language extensively to try and dissect these patterns. We'll get back to you if you we make any headway."

There were other questions, some of which Enya answered politely, others which she put down with complete contempt before eventually handing the rest of the class over to Miss Eleanor.

Between her cheerful tone of voice and the way that she cracked her wand dangerously against the table whenever she thought that the class' patience was wondering, nobody took their eyes off of the human mage as she provided a summary of human elemental magic, describing the Five Elements Theory and the way that Elemental Magic stacked to form more sophisticated spells through the geometric system, from dot, to line, to triangle, and ultimately square.

The mages in the room simply gave small nods as they listened, like they knew it all by heart, which they probably did. Magic was to them what math and computer logic classes had been for Kazuto in Japan, before SAO, before ALO and all of this.

There was a lot take in and most of the rest of the class was given over to Enya and Eleanor taking turns summarizing observations about how Halkegenian and Faerie magics interacted with one another, a subject that felt like it could have been, and probably would be several class sessions in length.

And Kirito had thought he and Asuna had been helping to figure things out, it seemed like the research groups had been collecting an amazing amount of information themselves. It must have been making Argo super happy.

"So in conclusion, a Halkegenian Mage is likely to have an advantage in terms of speed and diverting elemental type spells, using your spells creatively and keeping mobile is essential!" Enya finished. "Everyone please make sure to select an element for practice and have the mnemonics memorized by next week!"

"That's all the time we have." Miss Eleanor announced. "Class is dismissed!"

'Did she have to say it like that?' Kirito wondered. Some of the Faeries in the room might have been younger than they looked, but all of the Dragon Knights and mage officers should have been adults. Instead, they were hurrying for the door like school kids, speaking among themselves and some of their new Faerie allies as they departed in for their next engagements or in search of lunch.

"Mmmm-man!" Caramella groaned as she stretched worked her shoulder, accompanied by Klein. "Thought that was never going to end. You know, if I'd known we'd be taking lessons, I would have packed my old school uniform. Come to think of it," Caramella gave an experimental wriggle, "It'd probably still fit."

"Guess this means I'll be getting a lot of practice with fire magic." Klein grunted. "Like I haven't singed my poor eyebrows enough."

"I thought Salamanders were fire proof." Caramella chided, ribbing Klein gently in the shoulder.

"Fire _resistant_!" Klein corrected. "There's a _difference_. By the way," Klein grew more serious, "I know Kirito is sticking to his shadow magic, but what about you and Caramella, Asuna?"

Asuna smiled sincerely. "I've been thinking about it a little, the problem is that I don't really know what I'd be good at, I sent a letter to Kimura-kun at TRIST to see if he remembered anything when he peaked at my stats in ALO, but he said he was rushed when he read them and couldn't remember if I had any racial bonuses. I was going to experiment to see if anything clicks, but if I not, I think I'll probably focus on wind magic since it's a more highspeed style."

"Us Nymphs don't have any special affinities either." Caramella said, using the catch all phrase for the generic beta test race that each of the SAO survivors save for Asuna had been reborn as. "But we also don't have anything we suck at, so I'm kind of free to choose whatever. I thought I'd try Shadow magic, seems pretty cool, plus that Bestial Form spell is pretty badass."

Kirito grinned sheepishly. "That's only really because of how broken my stats were." He defended. When he'd talked with Morgiana about it she'd mentioned that the boss mob he transformed into was even tougher and stronger than her own Black Hawk transformation. It really was a totally unfair advantage, but without it, he'd have probably died twice by now. And if that was how it was, he'd keep his feelings about fairness to himself.

"Hey, the army wasn't _that _far behind the front lines. I should at least be able to pull off a kickass Dire Wolf or Reap Claw!" Caramella grinned with delight. It seemed she'd really gotten into the mood to learn magic recently.

"Oy, knowing you, you'd probably turn into a giant badger. Violent and ill tempered." Klein pointed out.

"And awesome! I mean, have you ever seen a badger? They're like a miniature bear! A giant miniature bear with magic!" Asuna smiled nervously as Caramella began to cackle.

Kirito traded looks with Klein. They might have just created a monster.

"Well then, we have to on our way." The Spriggan youth patted his oldest remaining friend on the shoulder. "Asuna and I have to meet with Lord Mortimer and . . . gah!" Kirito nearly walked out from under himself as the collar of his shirt was locked perfectly in place, pinning the rest of him along with it.

"Not so fast."

"Kirito-kun!" Asuna spun back around at his shout, meeting the perfectly serene and calm smile of the strawberry blonde Eleanor de La Valliere at the same time that she let go of Kirito.

"So you _are_ Sir Kazuto. Good, then I didn't waste favors getting this assignment." Even before her eyes opened, revealing a gaze far more icy than her smile, Kirito was also on alert.

"Excuse me?" Kirito coughed politely. "Uhm, Valliere-Sensei . . . Do you need something?

The woman in front of him planted hands formidably on her hips. "As a matter of fact. I need some answers. Mother and Father haven't been very forthcoming." And then she did something interesting, her smile vanished completely without ever fading. "I'd like to know what happened to my little sister."


	20. Chapter 4 Part 3 Need to Know

Halkegenia Online v3 – Chapter 4 – Part 3

"I'd like to know just what happened to my sister." Words spoken by the strawberry blonde instructor who had just put herself directly between the quartet of Faeries and their chief means of escape.

'My Sister'. Eleanor Valliere, in other words, sister to Louise Valliere. Not good!

Even before the doors and windows of the empty classroom shut of their own accord with a series of ominous -clicks-, closing them off from the outside world, Klein was already at full alert, blood racing and palms itching as he grabbed for the hilt of the sword that was conveniently not in his possession at the moment. Along with his armor, he had returned his preferred weapon to the armory after morning drills.

Damn this real world that lacked Safe Zones!

Klein wasn't the only one, Caramella and Asuna were thinking the exact same thing as the Valliere woman took a step forward that managed to seem both completely harmless and utterly terrifying at the same time. Not that she could really mean to attack them or anything . . . right?

"I know that you were the one with mother and Louise the night that she disappeared." Miss Eleanor's hand hovered over the slim holster that held her wand like a cowboy in some American Western. Man, Klein had hated those when he was a kid. "So, spill it."

Pinned under an accusatory glare, Kirito held his ground like a champ, then again, Klein thought, that seemed to be Kirito's luck with the ladies. Too bad he couldn't turn on the charm with this one.

"What happened to my sister? What happened to Louise?"

Kirito held his tongue, turning to look away from Miss Eleanor and to hide the grimace that he shared with Klein and Asuna. "I'm sorry . . . I'm not allowed to say."

And he _wasn't_, Klein thought, being sworn to secrecy by order of the Queen hadn't just been for show, breathing a word about Louise Valliere and the power that had dragged ALfheim into this real world carried the penalty of death. It was a state secret of the highest level. If Eleanor de La Valliere didn't need to know, she wasn't going to be finding out from them.

Not that saying something like that was going to make her the least bit happy.

"Not good enough." Eleanor growled, eyes narrowing behind the frames of her half-moon glasses. "Where is Louise? Who took her?"

"I'm sorry. I'm not allowed to say." Kirito repeated once more. Asuna stepped forward, taking Kirito's hand and squeezing tightly.

"Why can't you say?" Eleanor's voice rose.

"I'm not allowed to say." Kirito repeated resolutely.

"You were there though, weren't you?" Eleanor took another step. She wasn't very tall, in fact, Klein had a good few centimeters on her, but she managed to loom over Kirito. "I have to know, was my Sister alright? Please!"

The magic word, Klein felt for Kirito as the Spriggan winced. It was a low blow, but if there was anything that would hit Kirito hard it was mentioning family, the way he cherished his own sister, and the way he treated Asuna and Yui, he just couldn't _not_relate to that.

But Kirito was also a heck of a lot stronger than he looked, and in more ways than one, and he had Asuna backing him up. Squeezing his wife's hand, the Spriggan swordsman took a deep breath.

"Please, I'm very sorry, but I can't . . ."

His reply was cut off as Eleanor let out a cry, half between anger and grief, the air around them suddenly rippled into a short lived tempest, rattling the windows and whipping up discarded papers before dying away. Klein was still recalling the chant for a barrier spell before a louder knocking at the door signaled that someone had realized something was amiss.

"Why can't you tell me?!" The instructor cried out without regard for who might hear, or even for the dampness that glimmered at the corners of her eyes. "What are mother and father hiding from us?!"

"Valliere-sensei!" The door to the class room burst open to admit Enya, the Salamander girl's loose outer robes flapping as she hurried to see what was causing all the commotion.

Kirito simply stood there, taking it all in, Miss Eleanor's grief, and her frustration, maybe even the resentment she was directing, unfairly, his way, like it was Kirito's fault that her sister was missing. Which was bogus, Kirito had stuck his neck out to try and haul Miss Pinkie Pie back in and had nearly gotten himself and his own daughter killed for his trouble.

"I sword an oath for everyone's sake. I'm sorry." Kirito said quietly, without any other garnish. Just . . . "Sorry."

That was it, Klein thought, this had gone on long enough. The hell of it was that he really got where she was coming from, but he thought of himself as a friend to Kirito, he definitely wasn't going to let someone hassle a friend like this. All it was going to do was make the guy feel more like crap and leave Miss Eleanor feeling lousy herself when she found out she wouldn't get what she wanted.

Of course, he could also just be making himself a target for her pent up frustration, but that was okay too, his Faerie body was pretty tough, after all.

"Oy, Miss Eleanor." Klein raised a hand as he got between her and Kirito. "Why don't you lay off Kirito a bit?"

The reply was as immediate as it was hostile, looking him over suspiciously. "And just _who_ are _you_?" She said with about the same level of contempt and scorn Klein was used to getting on the days when his old boss was paying forward a particularly lousy meeting with his own superiors.

"The name's Klein." The Salamander thumbed his headband confidently. And if she hadn't heard about him being assigned to Louise's guard detail, it meant she'd only gotten Kirito's name from . . . somewhere. But if she was a Valliere, she probably had her sources.

'Argo's going to want to know so she can plug holes.'

"Klein?" Eleanor squinted, lips moving as if she was reading something from memory. "Then you know my sister."

"Uhm . . . what?" Klein stopped. "Well yeah . . ."

"So, you're the Salamander that Louise mentioned in her letters." The Valliere woman gave him another look over, this time as if she was actually appraising rather than studying something disgusting.

Really? Klein was given pause, he'd really left that much of an impression on Pinkie Pie that she'd written home about him? He'd left an impression on a girl!

Okay, a couple of years on the young side still, but it still counted for practice damn it! And it must have been a positive impression if . . . "Unkempt, unrefined, and lackadaisical, a Faerie who is even more infuriatingly inscrutable than all of the others combined." Klein came crashing down from his high. Then, as if satisfied with the destruction she had wrought, Eleanor nodded once.

"Ouch, low blow." Caramella snickered in his ear.

Klein finished dusting himself off mentally just in time for round two. "So . . ." Eleanor tilted her head. "Do you know anything about this? And what?"

Unbelievable, this woman was a member of the Academia, weren't they supposed to be like magical scientists or something? She sure seemed ready to keep asking the same question . . . or . . . oh . . . The ranting had stopped, and so had the angry looks, they'd been blown out, leaving only Eleanor, just standing there, waiting desperately for answers.

Which left Klein in a tough spot since he was sworn to secrecy too. "Like Kirito said, we're sorry." The Salamander said slowly. "We're really not allowed to say anything about it at all, even admitting that there's something we're not supposed to talk about could get us in big trouble."

The kind of trouble that ended with a short drop and a sudden stop. Queen Henrietta might have liked them all enough not to do_that,_ but he didn't think the Duchess felt the same way. In fact, now that he thought about it, she'd probably spent time thinking out ways to hang a Faerie if she had to.

"Just think about where we're coming from here." Klein pleaded.

Miss Eleanor chewed at her lip, looking first to Klein, then to Kirito and Asuna, each of them nodded in turn that he'd told the truth. At last, Eleanor's eyes fell on Caramella who raised her hands defensively.

"Hey, I know about as much as you. It's need-to-know, and I don't need to know, I don't _want_ to know if it's that important." Dropping her hands to her sides, the Nymph sighed softly. "Still, I'm sorry to hear about your sister, she seemed like a good kid when I met her."

That was what Klein had thought too, and still thought. Louise had seemed like a good kid, really on the straight and narrow until things had suddenly started falling apart around her ears, anyone would have broken down after learning something like _that_. And if Louise really had decided to go with her kidnappers like Klein had heard, well, she probably had her good reasons. Just like they'd have their good reasons when they found her and dragged her back.

Damn, couldn't say that either.

"She is." Eleanor breathed softly, shaking her head, "When she isn't being a perfect fool. This was a waste of my time . . . " Regaining some of her lost fire, she glanced to Asuna. "I don't suppose there's anything that you _weren't_ told to keep a secret."

A small shake of Asuna's head and another sigh.

"You're that desperate for clues?" Kirito asked. Good thing, it meant someone was doing their job right.

"Can you blame me?" For the first time since grabbing Kirito by the collar, Eleanor looked to have cooled off, resting back against the edge of one of the classroom tables. "She's my _sister_ after all. Mother and father haven't told us a thing but that Louise was kidnapped."

Eleanor scowled, something that she did with as much practice as her glares. "But who would kidnap our baby sister? She's an inexprime blunt, barely a mage at all," which made for three Faeries who were very good at holding poker faces and one who didn't know any better, Klein thought, "And she's not in line to inherit anything of much note. Mother and father would do almost anything to get her back, but even they can't move if it's a state secret."

"They're treating us like we're still children." Eleanor hissed irritably. "Well that's enough of that! But this is the only lead I have."

Kirito closed his eyes and spoke to no one in particular. "If the Crown of Tristain has decided to declare something top secret, they must have very good reasons for it to be that way."

"I'll be sure to keep that as a comfort while wondering what has become of one of my own family." Eleanor grumbled back.

Klein breathed a sigh, not that he wasn't happy to avoid blowing state secrets, but the atmosphere of the room had grown subdued, even though Eleanor had avoided blowing the whole place flat. 'Great, now what?' Klein wondered, they couldn't bend the rules for her, and this was probably going to have to be reported, which could get her in trouble . . .

"Excuse me. Ah, Eleanor-sensei." Enya's small voice called for everyone's attention.

Adjusting her wind-whipped robes, the small Salamander looked to have heard most of the conversation. Crap! Enya was definitely inquisitive enough to try to puzzle this sort of things out and . . .

"This has to do with your sister Louise, that's why you took this assignment?" The little Salamander asked softly.

"Enya-chan?" Klein asked. "Wait, you know?!" How the heck did Enya know stuff like this? Klein wondered, shouldn't all the people in a conspiracy have, like, a secret club to meet up at, or a handshake, or maybe a lapel pin, so that they didn't get into these situations?

Small nod, red hair waving faintly. "I was told by Lord Mortimer. Princess Henrietta approved it so that . . . well . . . " She shook her head. "I don't know everything, but Valliere-sensei, you're a member of the Academia, you might be given permit if the Queen thinks you could help."

"Help?" Eleanor's voice dropped. "What sort of help? No . . . let me guess . . . "

"I can't say." Enya said with a definite look of apology. "Klein-san wasn't kidding that we're not allowed to say anything. I wish it was different, but that's just the way it is."

Eleanor cast her eyes to all of them, a look like she didn't buy it, even if it was the truth. Normally, Klein would have let Kirito take the lead on this sort of thing, but given that it was hitting a little too close to home, it was up to him to step up to bat. This was a woman who was worrying about her sister after all.

"You should think about listening to Enya-chan." He advised, putting a hand on the small girl's slender shoulders. "She really knows what she's talking about. But," Klein crossed his arms, thinking out loud, "I'm a little surprised you didn't know this was a secret . . ."

"A family secret." Eleanor removed her glasses so that she could rub at her eyes unobstructed, "I didn't expect it to be a matter of the Kingdom . . . Louise . . . . what sort trouble has that girl gotten herself into now?" Another shake of the head. "I should have known there was more afoot. I don't suppose it would be too much to ask that this doesn't get back to mother and father now, would it?"

Defying her parents, Klein could relate to that.

"Is there something that the Duke and Duchess need to know about?" Kirito asked innocently. "I thought Enya-chan was just asking if she could put your name down to help on a project. We just happened to be leaving late is all. After all," the Spriggan grinned at an utterly bemused Eleanor, "It's not like we're supposed to be keeping tabs on you or anything."

"You better not be." Eleanor muttered, rubbing at her temples before waving them vaguely towards the door. "Okay, I get it . . . thanks . . . It's probably more than I should have been expecting." Her head snapped back around to Enya, the Salamander mage now consuming her full attention. "Now then, you were saying something about a recommendation . . ."

"Well, it's not going to be that simple . . ." Was the last thing Klein heard before taking the opportunity to dash for the door, he wasn't able to breathe easy until they were safely outside in the heat of the day.

"That was too close." Asuna was the first to speak, looking like she often had after a particularly close boss battle.

"I guess it's to be expected." Kirito said, distracted by his own thoughts. "Louise has a family that worries about her after all, I'm sure that . . ."

"Kirito-kun?" Asuna leaned close, he'd stopped mid-sentence, never a good sign.

"Hey, Kirito, what is it man?" Klein asked.

The Spriggan offered a rueful smile as he ran hands through his hair. "I was just thinking that we've all got family that would do the same if we disappeared, right?" And like that, the mood among the four sobered. "Yeah, I wasn't thinking, sorry."

It wasn't exactly something people wanted to talk about, the people they had left behind, that was. For once, Klein counted himself lucky for not having a girlfriend or anyone who relied on him. His mom and dad would be shaken up, but he was a grown man, and they'd survived losing him once.

Then there were kids like Kirito who weren't even out of high school. Hell, Kirito hadn't even been finished with middle school when SAO had taken him away, and then vanishing again out of the blue. At least, Klein _hoped_ that was all that had happened.

He'd had the luxury of seeing his own face in the mirror every morning. Other people didn't get to pretend they were still their old selves with pointy ears and superpowers. And with that in mind, it was hard not to wonder what was left of them back home in Japan. Had they all just vanished? A giant spiriting away?

Or had it been more of a John Carter deal, leaving behind their comatose bodies, or maybe . . . 'Maybe our corpses.' But the mood was morbid enough without saying that.

"That's why we've gotta support people like Enya-chan and the TRIST staff." Klein said instead. "We gotta keep'm safe so they have time to work and try to figure out a way for us to get home." TRIST had attracted the best and brightest of the players turned Faeries, the Doctors, Engineers, and a few advanced Physicists, or at least advance physics students, who had specialized in topics that Klein couldn't even pronounce.

Whether any of them were qualified to unravel the secrets of magic was anyone's guess, but nobody else on the Faerie side had a chance that was remotely above zero. Even Enya, a high schooler in that other world, was doing way more than Klein could have ever hoped to accomplish.

All he was good with was a sword, so he'd use it to protect people like Enya who were their best shot at getting home.

"Spoken like a real protagonist, Klein." Caramella offered up with a grin. "Man, can we please change the subject now. It's weird being with you guys when you're talking about stuff I'm not supposed to know about."

They hurried out along the packed earth that formed the surface of much of the Champ de'Mars HQ. The air outside was hot, but blessedly dry, and full of the smell of dust and sulfur residue that was accompanied by the not too distant shouts and -cracks- of soldiers drilling with their muskets.

On foot, the place was like a maze of outbuildings and barracks that had sprouted up around the three story high stone and brick HQ building, and that impression was only strengthened when taking to the sky. It reminded Klein a little of a documentary he had watched about the Roman Legions which had been known for their organized barracks and field fortifications.

It seemed that Halkegenia had maintained a little of that ancient discipline by way of its garrison forces, or maybe Lord Mortimer had already gotten his hooks sunk so deep that he was bossing people at the Headquarters now too.

Although whatever its source, a little bit of that organization had started breaking down recently. It was pretty obvious to Klein's untrained eye that the new construction, wooden barracks and armories put together by commoner carpenters, wasn't quite up to snuff with the long standing and magically crafted stone that made up the rest of the camp.

And things were definitely a lot more crowded around the HQ building since his first visit, the roads were packed, and everywhere Klein turned, there were mage officers walking about in groups or recruits being marched out for lessons and exercises.

Kirito and Asuna had a meeting with Lord Mortimer and General Eugene, something about the drills they'd been practicing the last couple of mornings. Klein's next stop was along the way, so he followed after the two, intending to break off when they passed the barracks.

It just so happened that their route took them past the edge of the HQ complex where the last of the buildings and parade squares surrendered to the expansive fields and network of berms that surrounded the Champ de'Mars training center. And it just so happened that while they were walking buy, a cloud of dust managed to work its way out from behind the berms, the product of roughly four dozen black ants. Or rather, Klein squinted, the dark specs resolving into people.

"PT?" Klein wondered out loud.

"Looks like the mage recruits." Caramella said with a distinct lack of her characteristic cheekiness.

"You can tell all the way from here?" Klein wondered, Caramella's eyes lacked the telltale glow of an activated Perception skill.

"We're two weeks into the training cycle. Commoner troops were all levied from the farms and villages, so they're already pretty fit, Carmond and the other instructors had them running in formation in less than a week. Those guys are a mess, just look at'm." The Nymph waved vaguely. "And their running gait sucks too, rookies are going to get some serious shin splints like that."

Asuna frowned. "Shouldn't the instructors correct them?"

"They probably already have." Caramella sighed. "A lot. But they have to complete the run, if they get lazy and their gait gets sloppy, the instructors can't do anything about _that_. I wouldn't worry, the pain's going to teach them pretty fast."

Maybe faster for some, Klein winced with sympathy as was particularly corpulent mage fell behind, or really, just fell, which presented a problem for the trainees trudging along behind him who suddenly had to contend with an improvised vaulting exercise.

"Seems sort of like a waste to run mages into the ground like that." Klein said out loud.

"I asked Lieutenant Gramont." Caramella answered. "He said physical conditioning helps to improve focus and willpower efficiency. I guess it's like how exercising regularly helps you to stay energized." The swordswoman worked her shoulders loosely.

"Huh." Was all Klein could think to say. "Oy, something wrong Kirito?" Klein noticed that his Spriggan best friend had stopped in his tracks to watch, in fact, he seemed to be watching one of the recruits in particular, a boy who couldn't have been much older than Kirito, sweat soaked mop of blonde hair bouncing messily as he struggled to hold his own at the middle of the pack. "You know that guy?"

Kirito sighed. "Something like that." Stuffing his hands in his pockets, the Spriggan turned to depart. "Come on, Asuna. We're already running late."

* * *

><p>It occurred to Guiche that there was a simple word which summed up his first two weeks of military training.<p>

That word was 'Hell'.

Though he hadn't known it when he'd arrived, the Champ de Mars was quite simply Hell.

It hadn't seemed that way at first. Arriving at the camp, the trainees had, to a man, been in good spirits to begin their training. Even Guiche had found himself joining in the mood being bunked alongside many of his fellow students, his own friends, Malicorn and Gimli, among them, taking leave from their studies at the academy in order to fulfill their family expectations, joining the army that was being raised to protect the Kingdom.

Two weeks ago, they'd been eager to begin their training, to prove themselves to Queen and Kingdom. Guiche remembered lying in bed that first night, listening to Gimli and Malicorn, despite what he knew lay ahead, their enthusiasm had been comforting. By now, much of that enthusiasm had worn off.

"Huff . . . huff . . . huff . . ." Lungs burning so bad that Guiche wanted to cry, but there was no time for that, and no breath to do it with anyways. The shouts and bellows of the instructing mage officer were frighteningly close now, close enough that Guiche could hear the gait that his horse made across the hard packed earth.

"Trainee Malicorn, you have not been permitted to stop, back on your feet!" Two weeks of physical labor and the relative privation of a military diet had not but put a small dent in the girth of the Wind Mage, face puffed up and ruddy beneath a veil of sweat as he willed himself onward. "And Trainee Gramont, that is a disgraceful showing, pick up your pace, you'll shame your father the General like this!"

"Huff . . . yes . . . huff . . . Sir!"

Guiche knew it was hopeless one way or another, there was no telling when the instructors would decide they'd had enough and blow the whistle to announce they were relieved, some day it was but an hour, others, they'd marched until the sun had been sinking on the horizon. Never was any sign given of just what swayed their tormentors' judgment.

He couldn't cry out, but Guiche found himself more than able to weep tears of pain as he ran, and he did so with shameful enthusiasm as the path beneath his feet began to rise and the pack he carried conspired to ruin him.

When Axel had first told him of the rigors of training, Guiche hadn't believed his brother that he was expected to perform the first month without magic. A magician without his magic was simply . . . well . . . a commoner. It seemed a waste. Why even bother with such a thing?

But father had appeared most agreeable about the arrangement, as had Reinhardt and Erwin when he'd asked if it was true. Father had complained of the softness of the present generation, and Erwin had observed that it was the tendency of the Nobility to train their magic from a young age while neglecting all else.

To train the mind, one had to first train the body. A mage's power was the sum of the mental reserves that they could call upon and their innate faculties, trained to shape and harness their magic.

A mage who could not maintain their focus on the edge of physical exhaustion, or whose physical condition did even in the slightest weaken their state of mind, was not a mage worth sending onto the battlefield.

Only once they proved themselves capable of that much, would they be allowed the privilege of magic.

If Guiche hadn't understood that before he and the other recruits had been given ample opportunity to have it pounded into their skulls until a permanent impression had been made. A mantra that had been imprinted on them all from the moment they had been made to surrender their foci.

'A mage who is nothing without magic is nothing _with_.' Guiche couldn't stop thinking those words.

'A mage who is nothing without magic is nothing _with._'

'A mage who is nothing without magic is nothing _with.'_

At least it gave him something to focus on save for the pain and his own ragged exhaustion, all the while, driving home that that they were all, from the highest noble son to the lowest, _nothing_ in the eyes of their magic instructors and even the commoner staff. If they'd needed any proof of that it had been on the second day when Willhelm de'Garten, third son of Count de'Garten, a powerfully built and highly accomplished duelist, had been thoroughly taken apart before their eyes in a training duel.

That his opponent had been none other than her Majesty's personal guard commander, inspecting the training grounds on the Queen's behalf, had been little consolation to the students, Agnes de Milan, not merely a commoner, but a woman at that.

The match had been meant to be contact only, but her Majesty's Knight had seen no need to hold back after de'Garten had attempted to stave her head in with his training sword. Brutal and efficient, the hallmarks of a de'Garten and a bully. The end result had been one mage clutching his fractured wrist and one commoner standing over him with murderous intent in her eyes as she slammed the tip of her training sword into the hard packed earth at her feet.

The trainees had been shocked into silence, all except Guiche who had known better than to be the least bit surprised by the outcome. A mage was not physically superior to a commoner after all, and de'Garten was still a boy fighting a fully grown and superbly trained woman, a woman who happened to show far more accomplishment with the sword than any idle fencer at the academy.

It was very much a temperament that Guiche had grown familiar with while traveling with Midori and he had suspected the way that the match would go as soon as the two participants had taken the field.

de'Garten's curses had echoed as he was taken to the infirmary to have his bones reset and flesh knitted back into its proper shape, but not before he was able to launch a final threat.

They boy had screamed like a banshee that he would have the Chevalier's head for daring to so much as lay a finger on his person, Dame Agnes had merely taken the threat in stride, not even blinking as she reminded calmly that the third son of a Count was beneath the rank of one of her Majesty's personal agents and that he should be thankful she was not demanding recompense for him threatening her life.

When the mage instructors had sided with Dame Agnes, that had been when de Garten had truly lost it.

_That_ had been an unwelcome surprise to more than a few of the trainees, expecting to be able to boss around and make demands of the commoners who had always been beneath them before. Certainly a commoner sergeant might _outrank _them, but the commoners would still know their place, the military was an institution where propriety mattered, after all. Malicorn had all but cried when the musketeers had begun ordering him around and the mage instructors had commanded he obey.

Guiche had been better off than most, _he_ at least knew a modicum of field craft, how to get by without needing a spell for every last thing, and years of his father and brothers' expectations had shaped him into fair physical condition, albeit far from what was demanded of him now.

Perhaps then, the surprise had been seeing just how much better suited still the commoners were to this same sort of grueling activity. The commoner recruits, volunteers, mercenaries, and troop levies summoned from across Tristain, arriving here to train as foot soldiers and cannoneers.

Without their magic, the mage trainees were little better than commoners and their instructors had deemed to treat them as commoners all the same in their physical exercises. It was an opportunity to measure themselves against the lesser classes, and find themselves wanting.

Every day thus far, the mage trainees had known only the sight of dust kicked up by the musketeers and pikemen that began ahead of them and never fell out of step or dropped behind. So relentless in fact that Gimli and Malicorn insisted the instructors must have been doing something to enhance the commoners as part of this 'humiliating exercise'.

Guiche knew better, boys and men who had spent their lives working the fields and tending to animals, physical labor from sunrise to sunset, they needed only the discipline to march and fight in formation.

It was even more impressive when Guiche considered that, when the mage trainees broke for classes, the commoners simply continued with their physical drill, trading forced marches and field training for team exercises, musket drills, and melee sparring. Not that he was in any condition to appreciate the marvelous feat of physical endurance on this, their third lap of the Headquarters.

He did find the strength, however, to lift his head high enough that he could make out a dark silhouette standing at the edge of the barracks. Sweat stinging his eyes, reducing the shape to a blur, for a heartbeat he thought 'Midori?', but then he blinked and pale skin became like ash and long hair resolved into the collar of black jacket.

Guiche grimaced, of course, he had hoped for too much. Not the Swordswoman and Agent of the Crown, but simply that crow Kirito, the mercenary who had captured the attention of Queen Henrietta and ingratiated himself so well as to be made a Knight for slaying the traitor Wardes. Guiche was not one to argue with the decisions of his much beloved Queen, nose wrinkling in distaste, but surely there were Faeries who would have been more suitable for an elevation of status, even if he was the husband of a swan as pure and noble as Dame Asuna.

And all the while, the efforts of agents such as Miss Midori went unrecognized. Needs to keep it that way or not, it was hardly fair. Surely a just reward need not draw the public's eye or the ire of the Nobility. If Faeries and Protestants were being elevated to the status of Knighthood for their service to the Crown, than surely even a bastard daughter could be honored with that station.

But as far as Guiche knew, it had not happened, perhaps even because Miss Midori did not want it to happen . . .

"Trainee Gramont!" The instructor roared down from atop his horse. In a moment of distraction, Guiche had neither seen nor heard his approach.

"Huff . . . Sir!"

The slim, pinch-faced man gave Guiche a look like he was something he wanted to scrap from his shoe. "Trainee Gramont, what is the proper order for musket volley?!"

"Huff . . . Sir! . . . It's . . ." It was at that moment that Guiche froze, a deeply nauseous feeling striking his stomach at the most inopportune moment, for, try as he might . . .

"Trainee Gramont!"

"Huff . . ." He couldn't recall . . .

The instructor shrugged, spurring his hoarse onwards. "Third Platoon, continue your march, you have Trainee Gramont to thank today . . ."

The day before, it had been Malicorn, and the day before that, it had been a boy named Eli, son of a petty mage hailing from the Capital. Even so, Guiche doubted that shared fault would make them any more forgiving. It was a sensation that solidified itself into an almost physical ball of unease that started deep within his stomach before rising, bubbling up through his chest, nearly strangling him as he . . .

"Huff . . . huff . . . hurrrrrkkkkk . . ."

Perhaps . . . perhaps he shouldn't have dared to have sausages that morning.


	21. Chapter 5 Part 1 : Kingston on Hull

Halkegenia Online v3.0 – Chapter 5 – Part 1

Kingston on Hull was a city under martial law.

It was no more than a few days since the incident beneath the cliffs, a black powder carrying merchantman blown to pieces by her own cargo, producing a thunderclap so loud that it had shaken the city and left the populace on the verge of panic until sunrise, fearing that they had come under attack. The people had heard about the battle of York months ago, and the stories had only grown with time.

The Faeries were attacking. This had been a feint. Or a failed attempt. It was the beginning of some new strategy. No ship was safe. And the port itself might be destroyed in an instant!

There had been demands to the government of Lord Cromwell, cries from the masses for protection, and calls from the merchants and nobility, whose wealth depended on the port, and which financed the ambitions of the new master of Albion, to guard their interests.

Lord Cromwell and his military advisers had heard the pleas of Kingston, and they had amply obliged. The Dragon Knight Squadrons had been re-positioned, patrols had been re-prioritized and the customs cordon had been extended out over the ocean. Now, all ships approaching the port were to be thoroughly searched before docking. It would not deter the smugglers who knew ways to circumvent the Navy's best efforts, but it would do to keep anymore flying bombs from wreaking havoc.

That had done to satisfy the concerns of the powerful, the Landholders and the Merchants, it did not satisfy the Army whose leaders had decided the measures taken to prevent seditious activity in a vital trading city had been entirely inadequate up to this time. Now that their concerns had been born out, they could attack the matter with some 'real teeth' as it were.

'Really, they're just trying to cover their asses.' Sir Richard Holland thought as he surveyed the streets from high up atop the saddle of his perched fire dragon, the powerful brute of a drake shifting back and forth beneath him but otherwise tolerant enough of his rider.

"Is he any better today than last?" Sitting opposite of Holland and his mount atop his own dragon, Ensign Blair Trayvor called over to him with a look of mild amusement coloring his features.

The two of them had been placed guarding the archway gates that separated the port district from the rest of the city, sitting up on the high stone wall, like a pair of squatting gargoyles. Coupled with their vantage from their saddles, it gave a fair view of the city, and the traffic currently backed up quite a ways. By official order, three of the four gates servicing the port had been closed, leaving only this one open to travel, all comings and goings monitored by the city garrison.

That left the Knights on watch with little to do save remain alert and observant until they were needed.

"I can't really claim to know, one way or the other." Holland patted his dragon's neck with the same firm motion that Blair had shown him. "But we're so retched together I should think I would notice even a slight bettering of his mood."

"Aye, he's got it in his head how you are now, you're going to have to prove him wrong for a while before he'll give you the benefit of the doubt." Blair offered up, scratching his smaller and decidedly more at ease drake along his flank. "You're in luck. Fire Dragons will forgive you if you stick with them. A Wind Dragon won't forget a slight."

Was that so? Holland wondered. "Guess I should be thankful you're an easy going sort," he tried to say in the same soothing tone of voice as Blair, "Huh boy?"

Horus' head swayed from side to side, the dragon giving a small huff.

"I'd say that's a good start." Blair grinned. "Just got to keep'm relaxed, Horus'll know how to handle himself when magic and shot is flying, it's when his rider gets anxious that he doesn't know himself, aye?"

"Aye." Holland answered before turning his attention back to the streets.

"Sure is a lot of people." Blair muttered under his breath. "Never seen so many before."

"You mean Kingston?" If memory served it was just a hair under one hundred thousand souls, all told.

"Aye, I've never spent so much time in a place like this in all my life. My mother raised me in the country, on the Western cliffs."

"Your mother?" Holland asked. "So I suppose your father . . ."

"He passed not long after I was born." Blair said without much emotion, either good or bad, coloring his voice.

"Ah." Holland leaned back in his saddle. "You have my condolences for your loss."

Blair shrugged, a motion that came with the ease and indifference of practice. "I don't need condolences over a man I never knew." Blair stopped, as if he was finished speaking before blowing a breath. "Just know that mum loved him, thought the world of him. It's a shame for her he isn't still around."

It occurred to Holland that he might have made a dreadful mess of things by touching on the subject. Years of being tied to Meinhardt had left him little choice but to dig his way out of such gaffs when they occurred. The best retreat, in his experience was a sharp change of subject.

"I suppose for someone born in the western provinces it would be a bit overwhelming." Holland nodded to the crowds. Beneath them, a merchant had just gotten down from his cart and was presently locking horns with the garrison Lieutenant on watch. It looked to be well in hand, Holland appraised, the usual bickering over the delays and inconvenience, and if not, that would be their signal to step in.

Blair rolled his eyes and gave a sharp laugh. "I'm supposing this is where you start calling me a poor, back woods provincial."

So, not the answer he had been expecting.

"Not at all!" Holland waved his hands quickly. Beneath him, Horus gave another agitated huff and needed to be settled down again before he went on. "I was merely saying that it is a change. And this is nothing to the likes of the Capital."

Londinium was five _times_ the size of Kingston, and when the outlying towns and cities that serviced it were counted up, the region was by far the most populous in all of Albion, nearly a _million_ people all told. He had been speaking only the truth.

"It's easy to forget that not everyone has spent time in the cities."

The fire of Blair's temper sated, for now, the Dragoon settled back in his saddle. "I'm not, you know . . ."

"Hmm?"

"Some backwoods know nothing, I'm not. Mum taught me everything she could, and I learned everything she couldn't by myself." Blair shrugged again. "I've gotten pretty good at it, teaching myself, or finding someone who can teach me."

"Is that how you learned about dragons?" Holland asked, the rather romantic notion of a young lad like Blair learning his trade as a stable hand coming unbidden to mind, perhaps he'd spent too much time reading mother's novels as a boy.

"Aye." Blair nodded. "Something like that."

"Well then, Ensign, I meant no offense, only that you should enjoy the newness and perhaps once our watch has ended we can have a look around before returning to barracks."

Blair perked up visibly at that. Lock down or no, Kingston was a port city, the war and blockades had damped that, but the city was still alive and as such still a place where entertainment and novelties could be found.

"I'll have to grab Meinhardt though, I think he knows the city." Blair scowled. "Of course," Holland confessed, "Asking Meinhardt will probably just end with us spending the night in a brothel."

"Ah . . . No thanks to that . . ." Blair shook his head quickly. "I mean, I don't need to get on any worse with the Lieutenant than I'm going on now."

"Too true Ensign." Speaking of the devil as he should appear on the wall beside them.

"Sir!" Both Knights gave salutes from their saddles.

Lieutenant Sir William Wells waved for them to be at ease. "How goes the watch, Sir Holland, Ensign Blair?"

"No signs of a trouble, Sir." Holland reported.

"Quiet as the grave, Sir." Blair agreed, and thought something of an exaggeration, it was not far from the truth to say that there hadn't been any notable disturbances the whole watch. Holland had heard mention of an incident the day before, a half dozen smugglers rounded up to be dragged off to the garrison HQ, but little else since then.

"Good." Sir Wells nodded. "I'd prefer that it would stay that way, but I'd ask that you keep at highest alert all the same."

"Of course, Sir." Holland frowned. "Sir?" The Lieutenant looked ill at ease, giving them not long to guess before waving them both down from their saddles.

Giving Horus another pat on the neck, Holland unclipped his harness to drop down to the paved roadway that ran along the top of the district wall, Blair following suit a moment later with far more personal grace than Holland had managed in his own dismount.

"Is there a problem," Holland looked every which way for eavesdroppers, "Sir?"

"That depends Ensign." Sir Wells said carefully, only the barest hint of weariness entering his voice. The Squadron Leader had been run ragged these past days in attempting to placate the local land holders who had called on the Dragon Knight's for help in securing their city. "I've just been released from a meeting held with the garrison commander. The flotsam retrieved by the Navy has been examined."

Dragoon and Knight remained silent as Sir Wells rubbed the bridge of his nose tiredly. "One of the Frigate captains performed a sky dive to follow the wreckage down to the sea, else it would have all sunk or been picked to pieces by the Dragon Sharks. The debris showed burns and splintering consistent with a powder explosion. The _Brimir's Bounty _was blasted apart by her own cargo._"_

"Aye, begging your pardon, that doesn't sound like any sort of news, Sir." Blair shifted from side to side impatiently.

"No." Sir Wells agreed. "That is exactly what we were expecting. I'd be more suspicious if there was anything but matchsticks left of the ship. While sifting the wreckage, the Navy found a survivor, that is to say, one of the sailors off of their patrol cutters. Two were destroyed in the detonation."

The patrol ships? Holland shared a looked with Blair who looked no more convinced.

"A ship's officer then?" The junior Knight wondered. He'd have to be a mage to survive falling a league and a half into the ocean.

"A commoner airman." Wells corrected. "He may have been stationed on the ship's far side when the blast hit them. It would seem that the keel cap and masts off one of the cutters held together long enough to slow the fall of the forward section. The man still broke half the bones in his body when the wreckage hit the water, and nearly drowned before he was pulled from the sea."

"Sounds like a miracle of the Founder he lived then." Blair whispered softly, crossing himself like a proper member of the faithful.

"If the Founder bothers himself to look out for any of us in these times." The elder Knight said less sincerely and more as a matter of form, but Holland knew better than to question his superior's propriety. "By order of the garrison captain, he was given the greatest care to be kept alive so that he might be questioned."

"Why we were not told of this before now?" Holland wanted to know.

"In hopes that it wouldn't lead to speculation and panic no doubt." Sir Wells supplied as though he didn't believe it himself. "I am not privy to the garrison captain's thoughts. In any case, the airman woke not long ago, if only for a brief time. He was lucid." Sir Wells cast his gaze across the city. "He said that right before his ship went down . . . he saw fireflies racing for the cliffs."

Holland felt his stomach wrench.

"Sir? Fireflies?" Blair looked unmistakably bemused. "There aren't such a thing on the White Cliffs, gets too cold for the wee glow bottoms . . . or . . . oh . . ." He got it now too, expression turning sober.

Blair was quite right, fireflies were a rare sight on the White Isle, occasionally spotted in the forests of Saxe Gotha, and never along the cliffs, but seen from a distance, there was something that they could be mistaken for, Holland knew quite well.

Faeries. And as simple as that, their suspicions were confirmed.

"There's hoping that the man took a touch to the head and is remembering wrong, but our fortunes haven't favored that sort of thinking." The Lieutenant said.

"Sir, this isn't well known yet, is it?" Holland shook his head, of course not. Their Squadron Leader wouldn't be telling them personally if it had been issued as a General Address.

"The garrison won't be informed until the captain has had a chance to brief all of his Lieutenants. I'm merely taking liberties to make sure that my own subordinates know what to expect." Sir Wells gave both dragon riders a hard look. "I _trust_ that you understand that this is confidential until such a time that it is made public."

"Sir!" Both saluted sharply. "As you command, Sir!"

"Good." Sir Wells nodded. "Good. I expect we will be receiving reinforcements from Londinium in the coming days. In the meantime, stay on your guard, both of you. Now, back to your posts."

"Sir!"

Sir Wells had made off quickly, down the line to where the next pair of dragons roosted and the next after that. He mustn't have been exaggerating when he said the information was confidential. So confidential in fact, that Holland wondered if he wanted anything at all to do with it.

Faeries. Holland swallowed. He could hope at least that the airman had been mistaken. Casting his eyes to Blair, all too eagerly mounting his drake, he couldn't help but think that this was an ill omen.

"Aye?" Blair grinned with the mischief of a child. "Eyes on the streets, right? Can't let any of the pointy eared sort slip us by!"

"I don't . . ." No, Holland merely smiled wanly, the boy had an eagerness he'd shared when he'd first joined the training cadres. Blair would learn temperance from his seniors, as Holland and Meinhardt had, well, as Holland had.

Climbing back into the saddle, he counted himself lucky that the rest of their watch went off without incident save for a few times that they had been called to add weight to the instructors of the garrison troops. Holland was no imposing figure himself, and Blair was an even more slightly built young lad, but five tons of fire breathing lizard tended to forgive their frailties.

It had not felt like long at all before Sir Saxton and Sir Whetherby had arrived to relieve them, both Knights giving solemn nods. A brief exchange with Sir Saxton as they passed atop their drakes had confirmed that the rest of the Squadron had also heard the news. Good, at least they wouldn't be caught by surprise, he hoped.

They had known this was a possibility. It was the very possibility for which they had been re-positioned to guard against, in point of fact.

If it had been Faeries, then they must have detonated the ship to cover their flight for the cliffs, maybe they had intended to light the cargo once the ships reached port, but the patrol cutters had spooked them into running. And if they'd escaped sight by anyone else, then surely there couldn't have been more than a handful.

But how _many_ could a handful be, he wondered, recalling _her_ once more, wings racked, chasing him through the skies, and to what purpose had they arrived?

None that could be good, Holland was sure. He was just as sure after walking Horus back to the stable and settling him in for the night, and likewise when he and Blair managed to make it to the inn that had become makeshift living accommodations for half of the Fourth Squadron, shared with travelers and merchants arriving or departing by the ships in the port.

Faeries . . .

Ludicrous it seemed to Holland, but people had an amazing power to remember the smallest details, the smaller the better, like the whirl of her long hair and the glint of her brilliant eyes . . .

Which was perhaps why he found himself being nudged in the shoulder once again by an amused looking Meinhardt. "Thinking of a girl I should hope!" The Dragon Knight asked with a devilishly irksome smirk which slowly widened as Holland's first instinct was to blanch. "Ah, so it _was_ a girl."

"Nothing of the sort!" Holland declared loudly, turning his attention back to his plate, currently half occupied by a roll of bread and an indescribable, brownish, meat . . . something . . . No doubt a fine example of local cuisine . . . No doubt. He poked furiously at his plate in hopes that it would dissuade Meinhardt. Of course, it didn't.

"Nothing to be ashamed of Sir Holland, these things happen as one grows into a man." Meinhardt said jovially as he polished off the last of the brownish, well, Holland supposed that it was gravy, with the remaining half of a roll, leaning back in his chair.

"That is not what I was thinking." Holland said quietly. "Nothing at all like it as a matter of fact. "It's merely the, well, the You, Know, What," emphasizing each word with a rise and fall of his eyebrows, "that the Lieutenant mentioned." certainly no need to raise any alarm by voicing such things out loud.

"Mmph . . . oo-mean da Faeriezz?" Meinhardt looked on as Holland waved his hands and hissed a curse under his breath.

"Shhh!" Holland hissed, casting glanced all around, who knew who might be listening. "Do you want another reprimand?"

Taking time to swallow, the half-Germanian put his elbows on the table. "Relax a little, whether there are or aren't, the people around here have already decided for themselves that the explosion was no accident."

"They have?" Holland was left at a loss. He shook his head, what people speculated was none of his concern, "That hardly makes a difference!"

"Well, you're right about that." Meinhardt agreed, leaning back in his chair as he picked at a tooth. "Command decided we were going to act as if it was them from the start, better safe than sorry I suppose, still, nice to know all of our work isn't going to waste."

"And you think it'll be fine, just like that?" Holland wished he could share in his friend's confidence. "If it is," Holland took a look around the dining hall before leaning in closer so that his voice would be masked by the noise, "_Them_ . . . We'll have a problem on our hands."

That's how it seemed from where he stood, so why didn't Meinhardt see it?

"It is what it is." Meinhardt said, voice and expression hardening as he became all about the business of his craft. "They're dangerous, not invincible. You and I survived them at Newcastle, remember that." By luck more than skill, Holland was quite sure, at least on his own behalf, but Meinhardt had always made his own luck it seemed.

Something else caught his eye, a head moving through the crowded room, searching for an empty seat where none was to be had. Blair stood at the middle of the room, looking very much like a lost child. Thinking hardly at all about it, Holland raised a welcoming hand, reminding Meinhardt to be nice.

"Why Richard!" Meinhardt threw back another laugh as he took up his tankard and drank down the contents by a third. "I've never been anything less than my charming self!"

"Which was exactly the problem." Holland was willing to bet as he turned his attention back to a reproachful Blair.

"Sir Meinhardt." The Dragoon greeted.

"Ensign Trayvor." Meinhardt shot back with a smile.

There was an almost tangible enmity between the two cavalrymen, made all the more ludicrous by the fact that it was utterly one sided. Meinhardt couldn't have been less able to hold a grudge, and the scathing glares seemed to simply bounce off him with about as much effect as a bout of flatulence in a cyclone. This would only anger the young dragoon more as Meinhardt remained willfully oblivious.

"Don't mind him." Holland insisted. "He's made an art out of being insufferable. Besides, you look like you could use a place to sit." Holland pulled out the remaining chair as a peace offering, one that he was thankful to see the slight Dragoon accept with a modicum of dignity, and an absence of violent outburst, laying out his plate of the same indescribable meat basted in gravy.

"So, what's with that look?" Blair asked as he sawed into the tough, rubbery slice of meat.

"Pardon?" Holland asked.

"That look. I'd say you've been sucking on a lemon, been that way since this afternoon. Course, could just be the company . . ."

"No need to be like that my boy." Meinhardt rested his head in his hand. "I'm sure we'll get along swimmingly. And as for Holland, he's been soured by mention of our pointy eared friends."

"Aye?" Blair gave him a look over. "Is that the case? I don't see what's to be worried about. They're nasty a-course but they ran at Newcastle and they ran at York, doesn't sound like unstoppable firstborns to me."

"See!" Meinhardt boasted loudly, loud enough to draw eyes from the nearest table. "_Blair_ here gets it."

Two men cut from the same cloth, Holland pondered, and all the while leaving him to be quite at the disadvantage. It was a wonder that they _didn't _get along.

"It's unexpected, out of nowhere is all." Holland muttered. "We had the Royalists to rights. The Tyrant King is dead and the last of the Tudor's have fled Albion. And just when we're to have our victory, Faeries appear from nowhere at just such a time and just such a place. How do you not wander what fate we're tempting?"

Meinhardt eased off on his ribbing, swirling the tankard he held in his right hand while tapping out a rhythm on the table with his left as he thought. "Don't see how it changes a thing." The Germanian said. "Rebellion is a messy thing at the best of times, we were lucky to have favor on our side. If you want to say it's fate, then the Faeries are probably our penance for a short and victorious war. Founder knows how things could have gone differently. You should know that better than anyone, Sir Holland,Knight of Adeline."

"Hmm?" Blair stopped his fruitless effort at mastication, putting his cutlery down. "Sounds like there's a story to that if I do say so."

"Only that Holland here," Meinhardt waved vaguely in his direction, "And the rest of his family, happen to have a history as retainers to the Baron of Adeline. I shouldn't need to tell you why _they _have more reason than most to dislike the Tudors, the living ones anyways."

Holland fixed Meinhardt with an intense frown.

Blair was silent for a moment as this detail sank in. "The Baron of Adeline . . . then . . ."

"Our Fair Lady was Princess Mary Adeline, wife of Prince Lionel of the House of Tudor." Holland confirmed. "Beheaded on order of the Tyrant King for death of the Second Prince." At least, that was how the Tudors had told it. Really, it had been nothing but a beast of a man assuaging his blood lust.

Without remorse, without even trial, the crime had been placed wholly on the shoulders of a quiet, soft spoken woman who had never so much as harmed a hair on a babe's head much less been capable of murdering her own husband. Holland had only known her distantly as a member of the Baron's family, the few times their paths had crossed she had been kind to him. From what little he had gathered, the Princess had loved her husband truly and deeply, and had counted herself blessed to be had by him.

"I heard they executed the Princess' guards before her." Blair said in a hushed, almost conspiratorial voice, a boy who didn't really understand the whole miserable affair. "They were accused of trying to cover her crime."

That had been the reason they'd been put to death, or at least, the reason given, with no more evidence than what had been leveled against their charge.

"Relations of yours?" Blair leaned elbows on the table.

"One of them was my uncle, my mother's brother, the other was a second uncle on my father's side." Holland said. "It would have been the greatest disgrace in our family's history if one iota of it were true."

But it wasn't true, it couldn't be, and even if it was, King James had disgraced himself first by demanding swift judgment and execution. The Baron had still been in the midst of pleading for his daughter's life when he had heard that her head had been hoisted up above the Tower of Londinium.

That had been the final wrong, the breaking point that had opened the floodgates of revolution and changed the Baron of Adeline from one of the King's strongest supporters into one of his greatest enemies. Revenge had taken root and there had been no stopping it.

There had only been one thing for it, to join with the only figure in Albion that had been standing in open rebellion against the King. Lord Cromwell had been outspoken in his regrets for the death of the Prince and Princess, the last voices of reason in a decadent Royal Line which had fallen to cruelty and corruption.

And where the Baron of Adeline went, his retainers had loyally followed.

The Baron had been the first Nobleman of real significance to change his allegiance, but he had not been the last to join Lord Cromwell's cause. Opportunists, true believes, pragmatists, and those who wanted to right their own wrong, all had been welcome. With each Noble and military Officer who had stood in open rebellion and pledged their aid to the cause, another had been convinced to do so in turn.

Carefully arranged alliances and balances of power, rotten from decades of abuse, had finally begun to come apart, first slowly, and then with gathering speed. That had been the real start of the rebellion that had grown into full revolution by the time the leading forces of the Holy Army of the Reconquistadors had reached Londinium, growing in strength with every town and city that traded sides.

Meinhardt had been right, they were lucky that their revolution had garnered support. It had made the hard fought battles in the North no less brutal, but more palatable as the Royalists had swiftly exhausted their remaining manpower and resources while the forces of Lord Cromwell had continued to enjoy considerable reserves.

"That's enough of that then." Holland found himself in a singularly ill mood. "It's a fair better reason to fight than most. Was it not your family that only traded sides when Admiral Blake ordered the Navy to stand down?"

"Only because he did not order the Navy to Lord Cromwell's aid!" Meinhardt declared. "The Tudors were strangling half the southern families in favor of their close allies, a fat lot of good it did them in the end."

"So what you're saying is that you fought to stay out of the poor house." Holland mused. "Said like a true merchant."

"Commoner and noble alike, everyone needs to eat, and everyone has something to trade for their daily bread." Meinhardt pointed out. "I take pride in my merchant's blood."

"Sounds more like mercenary's blood to me." Blair said.

"There's really little difference." Meinhardt agreed. "Proof of what my father always said, that merchants truly are warriors at heart."

"And what about you?" Holland gave Blair a look.

"What about me?"

"A Dragoon from the auxiliaries. That's not where I'd expect to find someone planning to join the Knights. You must have some reason for picking sides in this war."

For Holland it was family honor, for Meinhard it was pragmatism. Apathy could be a cause, but if Blair aimed to earn a living out of this war he'd be better served joining a free company. "Why the Dragon Knights?"

If the question struck some private chord, it did not show as Blair assumed a contemplative pose. "Aye. I have my reasons, and they'd be none of your business. Why I flagge under Lord Cromwell . . . I'd say it's because he must have a point what with the whole country behind him."

There was that, Holland thought, head bobbing up to sweep the dining hall once more. Inside, in the light and warmth, it was hard to think about the prospect of war, but it would come again soon enough.


	22. Chapter 5 Part 2: Infiltration

Author Note: Sorry for the slow updates, I've been working on a very long scene for a later chapter.

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><p>Halkegenia Online v3.0 – Chapter 5 – Part 2<p>

Kingston on Hull was an old city. It was an old city built on a old city. An old city, built on an old city, which had in turn grown up around an even older castle, which had once been nothing more than a trading outpost so far in the distant past that nobody could even be bothered to remember what it had been called.

The castle was gone now, replaced long ago by the harbor tree that had sprouted up and slowly, over the intervening thousands of years, displaced the old keep until not even a foundation remained. A more modern fort of brick and mage crafted stone had been built into the cliffs as the most recent in a long line of replacements, looking out on the sea of clouds, a monolith bristling with cannons and births for patrol cutters and gunboats, a symbol of advanced military power declaring the wealth and importance of the city.

The names and histories of the old cities were gone now too, forgotten over the ages, but their memory still lived on in the cityscape, in the walls that cut concentrically through city districts like the growth rings of a stone tree, reflecting consecutive ages of conflict and prosperity through Kingston's long and storied history.

Three walls, each one larger and more elaborate than the last, each built in its day to hold back the besieging armies of the time, growing from the tall, relatively thin and monolithic inner walls of mage crafted stone, to the more segmented and sloped middle wall with its many protruding watchtowers and bastions, and the outer wall, less a barricade, and more a feature of the landscape, low and thick, backed by earth and brick housings for cannons and mage weapons, and jutting out in a jagged jig saw pattern like spear tips built to repel giants.

The times had changed, but the walls had remained, in fact, they had been restored and beautified more than once by Kingston's rulers. Where in other cities and towns, the old fortifications would have long since been picked apart for building materials, the Nobility of Kingston had gained a unique appreciation for their old walls and the unintended service they provided by keeping people where they _belonged_.

Effort had been spent over the years making sure that they continued to be very good at doing just that. Inner walls had been added to sub divide the city and channel the traffic coming and going from the port district. Blockhouses had been erected at the gates, manned around the clock by well equipped and trained guards.

The flow of traffic was carefully controlled and directed so that, when the explosion of the _Brimir's_ _Bounty_ had reminded Kingston's rulers what it was like to live in fear, they needed only to clamp down that much tighter to put their city into a state of near lock-down. The soldiers sent to their aid by Lord Cromwell's decree had just made it easier.

Not that it was going to matter one way or another. More like it was going to lull them into a false sense of security. After all, they could only guess about what might be coming. And whatever they'd guess, they'd be wrong, more or less.

"Next!"

A grizzled guard sergeant, salt and pepper in his beard and coat in the colors of the local nobility, waved his men away from a pair of wagons. The guards had conducted a swift search, and finding nothing but the cargo of flour that had been identified in their manifests, the wagons had been permitted to proceed through the checkpoint.

Nodding as if satisfied, the sergeant turned back to the waiting line, one of four that fed through just this gate alone.

Security had been placed at a heightened state and would remain that way until the order was given to stand down, but the inhabitants of Kingston still needed to eat, and the flow of goods and labor still had to travel both ways unimpeded. It was a weakness in the cities otherwise impenetrable defenses, exploited by all sorts of undesirables, smugglers, and fugitives.

City guards stood at attention flanking the gateway, soldiers paced the walls above, and as if that wasn't enough, a pair of dragons cast their shadows down from on high, observing with glassy, reptilian eyes while their riders swept the cues for signs of trouble. Everything about the set up screamed that security was on alert and on its game.

"Alright, you. Time to go now." The sergeant came upon the next in line a hooded and hunched man in the company of two others, a man and a woman. "Travel papers."

"I have them, Sir." The younger man, big and barrel chested, with a thick red beard kept well groomed, stepped up, offering a sheet that had been marked off with a long list of matching blue and red stamps.

The Sergeant squinted as he scanned down the line. "All the way from Westridge this says. You've traveled a wee bit of a ways, lad, you and your . . ."

"Father, Sir, and my wife." The man supplied helpfully and a little too quickly, as if being slow had cost him in the past. "It wasn't by choice mind you, Sir, but I heard news of work this ways." A trio of the soldiers had stepped, pulling open the cloaks of the woman and the elder man to search for contraband. "I'm a carpenter, Sir, looking for a steady wage. It was either here or Londinium."

The Sergeant nodded absently as he softly spoke the names of the cities and towns that they had been through to arrive at Kingston. "Very good then, all the stamps are official, this checks out." Removing a stamp from a pouch hung from his belt, the Sergeant pressed down firmly on the bottom of the paper and held the stamp in place to a count of three.

"This stamp is an alchemic marker, the ink will fade over the course of one day. You must return here or to the port district gate if you wish to have it renewed." The Sergeant fixed the man with a steady, serious look. "Keep your papers with you at all times, do not allow the stamp to fade completely so long as you are seeking work within the walls of the city. Doing so will have dire consequences. If you find steady employment, your employer can furnish you with a permanent mark of residence. Is that understood?"

"Yes Sir." The carpenter said quickly. "Thank you Sir!"

"Move along then." The Sergeant waved. "Next!"

"See, Elga, I told you we'd make it just fine." The carpenter whispered to his wife as they set off. "Those rumors about bandits along the roads were just exaggeration you see. The Army would never allow them to operate so brazenly . . ."

"Aye, papers out." The sergeant looked to the next group in line and was given pause, eyes narrowing suspiciously, another trio wrapped in heavy travel cloaks.

For a commoner to be trusted commanding the gate watch, he would have to be as experienced as his age suggested. That experience came with a certain instinct for the out of place, acquired by years of surviving by luck and skill.

Maybe it was the way that they moved, never quite perfectly still, shifting from foot to foot impatiently despite having waited in line for hours to get this far. Or the way that they looked off constantly in different directions, but never glanced the same way. Or maybe it was the fact that their cloaks were hung in just such a way as to shroud anything more than a pale hint of chin or a flash of light reflected in eyes.

The instant he leveled a look upon them, all three fell still as death.

"Are ya deaf, lads?"

The sergeant grunted as he took hold of the cloak of the first, the slight frame underneath going stiff as he pulled the weather covering back to look upon a girl no more than perhaps twelve of age, black, curly hair hanging loosely in ringlets over high, pale forehead and drawn back into pigtails behind her ears, big, emerald green eyes gone wide with innocent alarm.

"Here . . . Sir, my humble apologies for my clumsiness." A voice carrying a very faint hint of odd accent, Romalian, or maybe Gallian influenced, and very feminine on top of that. The second traveler stepped forward, hand held tightly to a travel document.

Sparring a glance, the sergeant took the proffered piece of paper without ever looking away as the hood was drawn back on the features of lovely young peasant girl of perhaps fifteen or sixteen, old enough for the first signs of womanhood to be apparent in the features of her heart shaped face. Long black hair had been pulled back and braided with a simple length of cord that hung over her left shoulder. Despite the gap of years, the family resemblance between the two girls was clear enough.

"This is what's required, is it not?" The girl's whispered reply was delivered all the while her green eyes were cast to the ground at her feet. "We were told to keep it safe with us at all times.

The Sergeant nodded slowly before turning his attention to the travel papers, catching the older girl looking up from the corner of his eye.

The document told of a relatively short journey along provincial roads by way of market towns and villages, each destination marked by receiving a red stamp before setting out and a blue one upon arrival, the final departure stamp was from the village Canterbur and reaffirmed Kingston as the trio's final destination alongside a green stamp that had been placed when the document had been issued.

The stamps all checked out, the ink was good when he dusted his thumb with alchemic powder and rubbed it against each of the seals. That left simply the the travel orders.

"This says you're here for work? You're families have sent you? Hardly fitting for girls to travel alone."

"Things as they are, we've little choice but to seek work in the city, Sir." The elder sister answered and waved to the last of her party, pulling back his cloak now. "And we'd hardly be traveling alone at a time like this, our brother is with us."

Pale skin, black hair, and bright, green eyes, marked the boy as a relation to the girls, but that was where the resemblance broke down.

A hard featured youth who could not be more than a year or two older than the elder girl, but who lent himself to being older still. Anything in him that could be called delicate was only that way in so much as being fine, with sharp cheekbones and chin, and raven's black hair that hung like a mop.

His cloak, opened by the guard searching him, revealed a lean frame under rough traveling clothes, a youth accustomed in his short time to long days of hard labor. Hanging loosely from his belt was a simple leather scabbard, the hilt of a cheap commoner's sword protruding.

The sergeant gave the youth a hard look, the boy looked back, emerald eyes almost repellantly cold and bitter, not at all what he would have expected in such a young face less than a year ago, but not uncommon War had been quick as such things went, but no less unkind.

"Looking for work too I suspect." The sergeant sighed, and gave the three a look that might almost have been pitying.

"If there's any I'm suited for." The boy rasped and nodded his head towards the guards. "Not afraid of hard work."

The guards snorted. That was what they all said. "This shows that you left Canterbur three days ago? That's barely a day and a half's travel."

The youngest sibling tried to hold back a dainty cough, but failed to do more than cover her mouth.

"She sickened on the road, and we had to stop for her to rest." The older sister explained.

"Sister says we can get medicine here." The younger girl agreed in a small, sweet voice, eyes showing a measure of hope.

And that, where others measures failed, crept through the old sergeant's heart. Maybe he was softer than he looked, of maybe he had children of his own which demanded his sympathy. Nodding slowy. "Aye, the city has its share of healers, some will even see to a commoner's health."

"You hear that?" The brother asked softly.

"I told you it was true." The older sister put her arms around their youngest sibling.

"This all checks out." The sergeant declared, handing the paper back to the older girl after placing a day stamp in its lower right corner. "You've got one day before this stamp begins to fade, it must be replaced daily and the document must remain with your persons at all times until you depart the city or find employ." As hands closed on the paper, the sergeant pulled back, nearly withdrawing the document from her grasp.

"There is just one more thing." All three grew tense at once, a trio of riled cats by the looks of them. "Merely a word of advice that if you're looking for work, there's no good kind for girl's like you in the port district, stick to the commoner quarters and shops." The trio blinked almost in unison, the old sergeant shaking his head with mirth, the similarity of siblings seemed to carry down the generations. "And keep to main streets if you're out at night in the commoner quarters, the walls keep the undesirable sorts penned up, but that just keeps them restless, light on the busy streets will scare'm away, sure enough."

"Oh?" Green eyes appeared mystified, and then, "Oh. Th-thank you for your concern." The older sister offered a small smile that was sure to be a bright moment in an otherwise dull watch shift.

"Aye, not a problem at all lass. It's been a trying time for us all these last few months. Now run along, the lot you."

"Yes Sir. Th-thank you, Sir." The trio said almost perfectly as one. A last wave saw them off, the watch sergeant's grind fading as he turned upon the next in line. "You, yes you! Papers out where I can see them."

He did not spare the three siblings another thought that day, or any other day after, but, if the sergeant had bothered to look back, he might have wondered upon the sudden change as the smiles vanished from the faces of the two girls, replaced by murderous looks that belong nowhere on the face of ones so young.

* * *

><p>Crowds. Shiori had decided not long after her rebirth that she did not care much for crowds.<p>

Part of that came from her past self, Shirotaka Akira, who had from a young age both shunned and been shunned by others. Crowds had never meant anything good growing up, except maybe anonymity as he went about his business. More often it was the feeling of being surrounded by people he didn't understand and had felt he had no hope of understanding.

The rest was almost certainly thanks to now being three half's three feral cats and another three half's three constantly angry and vengeful young women out for blood. In Shiori's limited prior experience, neither of those were things that dealt well with being surrounded by a sea of humanity, something that she experienced in full panorama through her three fields of vision, swirling around her until it was almost too much, even for three brains working as one.

It was a good thing that her human forms had dulled her senses, adding the shear intensity of sound and _smell_ might have pushed her over the edge. So many people, crammed so close together that it almost felt like fighting through the streets of Tokyo at rush house, only without the sanitation, hygiene, or tech shops that made doing so _barely_ tolerable.

Not for the first time, Shiori was thankful she hadn't made a rush for the city when she'd detonated the _Bounty_.

It hadn't been a mistake to bide her time in the countryside for a few days, posing as travelers, talking to the natives, and crafting a story and disguise that would left her blend in when she got to the city.

Now that she was in Albion, there was no need to dive right in, she could take a little time and plan. It had been a chance for her blood to cool and to get a handle on herself, more or less, at least enough that she'd been able to control the urge to cut down the watchmen when she'd thought for a moment she'd been made at the checkpoint, somehow.

Shiori's dagger self placed a hand to her forearm, squeezing, as the incident played out in her mind once more, and with it, memory of the burning desire to _pounce_ almost causing her arm to cramp as she resisted the call to lash out by instinct.

But she hadn't been caught, her disguises had held up to scrutiny with nobody the wiser. The danger had passed and the animal urges along with it.

At least, that was what Shiori told herself as she kept close together, each of herselves keeping watch in a separate direction as they traveled, mindful to keep at least one of her in sight at all times.

The truth was that the danger was still there, just less immediate, and therefore something less than real to her cat instincts, content to be silent so long as her hominid brains were doing all the hard work.

She could thank her time outside of Kingston for that too, namely, acquiring local clothes and travel documents, albeit by less than pleasant means. At least this crappy world now had one less band of petty murderers and rapists. If she'd been able to loot what she'd needed from their stash, so much the better.

Sword Shiori shifted uncomfortably, and not merely because of the sensation between his legs that after months had become unfamiliar and uncomfortable, albeit less than the loss of her balance aiding tails and highly directeable ears. Just as she was getting used to herselves the way they were, she'd had to go and make things _interesting _again. More or less.

No, Mahou Shiori snorted as she kept an eye on some suspicious looking thugs on her left side, it wasn't the fact that one of her had temporarily regained their lost manhood. Though, she did sometimes wonder if becoming female had somehow made her less squeamish.

It was hard to say one way or another, it wasn't like Akira had needed to fight and kill before coming to Halkegenia, and by the time she was gutting people alive in their sleep as Shiori, she had had pretty much rendered the question moot.

And really, she had more important things to wonder about than whether growing a vagina had made her less of a pussy.

It didn't stop her wondering about why it had felt so different this time. The killing that was. They'd _needed _to die, there were lots of good reasons. And if this kept up, it was going to be a problem when she got to the ones that _really_ needed to die.

She had plenty of experience pushing back the nightmares, and the uneasy feelings that had come from her first vigilante outing. It wasn't working so good this time. Probably because this time she hadn't just run across a bunch of murderers and dispensed justice in a cold blooded rage, or wiped out a ship full of sailors who were a real danger to her survival.

This time, for the first time, she'd gone out of her way to hunt her prey.

It hadn't been as hard as she had expected, listening to rumors as she shared her meager food with travelers and merchants, teasing out the details of what roads _not_ to travel by herselves.

Since Royalists had become an endangered species in Albion, Reconquista hadn't wasted any time in asserting control. Not that it was out of the goodness of their hearts, it was just hard to tax a country that was in the middle of killing itself. So Lord Cromwell and his general, who had found themselves the proud owners of a whole country, had gotten together and done something about it.

The army that had been built up from mercenary troops and Royalist defectors had been turned back on the countryside, rebuilding and manning the guard houses that had been destroyed or neglected during the war and patrolling the road ways for stragglers.

Orc war bands, who had been brought to Albion as expendable shock troops and then escaped their stockades to terrorize the countryside, had become more trouble than they were worth and had been hunted down and exterminated with extreme prejudice. The same had also gone for any of the mercenaries turned bandits who had been too brazen, no, that wasn't the word for it, Shiori thought, that had been too _stupid_ to stay below the radar.

The ones Shiori had tracked down hadn't been stupid, just the opposite. The highways were under constant patrol, but there were plenty of back roads and paths that weren't monitored, and enough travelers on those roads to make them attractive marks.

The bandits had the sense to hide from army patrols, it hadn't dawned on them that there were worse things they should be hiding from.

Shiori had found them in the night, following the smell of camp fires and the lights flickering in the forests, and then wiped them out to the last man with the same technique she'd used to dispatch the crew of the _Brimir's_ _Bounty_. She hadn't felt any need to hold back as memory of her first killing had bubbled up, these ones had been just as deserving of their fate as the bandits she'd stumbled upon in Tristain, as if the items she'd found with them hadn't been enough proof.

It was where she'd gotten the sword hanging on the belt of her presently male self, and the knives hidden on the person of her Dagger and Mahou selves, and it was where she'd gotten her hands on a travel letter, one of several that the bandits had relieved from their previous victims. It took a real force of will to keep three minds from lingering for too long on thoughts of their past owners.

The sword felt light and cheap, like some plastic knockoff, and the daggers weren't much better than toothpicks. She'd have preferred her Faerie equipment if it wouldn't have been a fat giveaway in the hands of a trio of 'peasant siblings'. But if she was going to do this, she had to keep a low profile, anything else was too risky while she was creeping around under the noses of an entire city full of guards and soldiers.

Unseen Moon and Nidhoggr's Fangs could all but slash through and pierce native armor, and what they could do to flesh was better left unsaid. Unless she needed to drop a orc in one clean strike, they were gross overkill for the kind of work she planned to be doing here, and try as she might, she couldn't think of any scenario needing them where they would make much of a difference.

That had settled the matter for her. She'd never been a very nostalgic person in this or any other world. So her gear had been left behind outside of Kingston, tucked away in a safe hiding place she could return to later, and Shiori had made her way into Kingston, authentically armed and disguised, with the papers she would need to travel more or less freely while she did her initial reconnaissance and snooping around.

Despite the ugly feeling that lingered with her, she was eager to get started. Maybe results would wash the bad taste out of her mouth.

There was a market square not far from the outer gates, a wide open space, at least, wide open by local standards. People were congregating, browsing the stalls, buying, selling, and most of all, talking. Boring personal stuff mostly, but there was bound to be gossip, and if there was one things Shiori did actually understand about people, it was that they couldn't keep their mouth's shut to save there lives.

It was as good a place to start as any, besides, her stomachs growled, starting in the belly of Sword Shiori and then extending sympathetically to her Dagger and Mahou bodies, her sense of smell might have been dulled but she was sure she was scenting fresh meat. She could at least put her ill gotten gains to good use.

* * *

><p>Author's Note:<p>

I debated whether or not to post this, and then decided that one way or another I had to get it out of my head.

So after all the effort that went into Shiori, both by myself and their creator Gamlain, I've gotten a few comments about the character and in the end this kind of cropped up as my thoughts about Shiori and the person beneath began to take shape. Hopefully it doesn't come off sounding too bizarre (says the person writing a story full of mass spiritings away, gender bending, and shape shifting . . .) Or too much like I'm stroking my own philosophical ego.

As a reminder, I'm speculating as much as anyone, I didn't create the Shiori, I just got permission to use them and bounce ideas off their creator. I've certainly evolved them since the first drafts, but the underlying inspiration is all Gamlain.

An ongoing theme in HaLO has been masks and disguises, both literal and figurative. Literally in the transformation of the players into Faeries, thousands of people have assumed faces and bodies that were not the ones they were born with, and figuratively in the changes that they have undergone emotionally and mentally to survive.

Over the course of the narrative, many characters have easily slipped in and out of facades and deceptions ranging from Louise playing the part of a servant girl to Kirito's shenanigans as Midori. Both of which, rather ironically, revealed truths through their deception. Louise learned of the plight of the commoners and Guiche was called out for his philandering.

Sometimes the mask has also worked in reverse, transforming the person underneath. This is evident in a positive light in characters like Sakuya, Mortimer, Eugene, and Morgiana, assuming strong outward personas as commanders, leaders, and warriors. These changes have sometimes been hard on them, but overall they have been affected positively by their choice to project a strong facade to the world.

It is also expressed negatively in the form of characters like Ephi, a man so consumed with self loathing for his 'real' self that he has even begun to dissociate from his past identity, choosing to become a villain and risk death rather than allow the remotest chance of being reduced to his past self.

Someplace between these two extremes sits Shiori.

To steal from another of Kowahara's works, Shiori is a reflection of her creator's (Shirotaka Akira) true self, his fetishes, hopes, fears, and insecurities.

One comment that was offered on several occasions was the suggestion that Akira might have been a lolicon fetishist due to the appearance he gave Shiori and his noted fascination with gymnasts. It made me think about appearances in general, and specifically how Shiori was created as a front for Akira and what that appearances might mean.

Akira was fifteen years old as a human, I'm just going to go out on a limb and guess fifteen year old girls were probably high on his list of interests. Shiori is modeled on a fifteen year old girl within a standard deviation of height, bust, and weight, and barring Suguha, most of SAO's female characters in that demographic are not winning prizes in a sweater filling competition, at least not by anime standards.

So lets look as Akira for a second, pulling from the comments made by Gamlain. A young, frail, and socially inept shut in hacker and victim of bullying, suffering from severe monomania and possibly depression, whose only positive social connection has been with his sister.

This already paints a pretty vivid picture of his feelings and resentments. Not only that, he shows no sign of associating his gender positively with strength. Rather than strong masculine role 'self sacrificing, confident, honorable', he holds a very weak masculine image 'self serving, abusive, spiteful' due to the abuse he has suffered and his own failure to do anything about it.

Akira's failure to 'protect' his Sister from SAO, in essence to be her 'Knight in Shinning Armor' was pretty much his last chance at salvaging any worth in his masculinity and his failure to protect himself from his own bullies could be seen as failures to live up to the masculine role society expected of him. So Akira grew to resent his masculinity while still holding femininity in high regard due to his sister.

In that regard and at risk of sounding really creepy, Shiori probably was a very sexual creation to an inexperienced kid like Akira and might have been the occasional target of his fantasies, though for reasons decidedly other than Lolicon. He tried to create what he thought of as a very empowered form, it just so happened that this lead him to think of women rather than men.

Take a look at the body of a female gymnast sometime (objectively please).

Uniformly small breasts and hips and a short stature, often under five feet for those who are still young, which might be considered part of lolicon fetishism by emphasizing a small and pubescent body type, but the other aspects of that sort of physique are in pretty massive opposition to the ideas of female weakness, purity, and fragility that are at the heart of lolicon.

A gymnast after all is an extremely well conditioned athlete with very well defined physique that would in no way suggest weakness. In fact, Shiori, despite her stature, emphasizes a very physically empowered form, shed of everything unnecessary. That sort of strength engendered in a form that others would expect to be weak would appeal to a kid like Akira on a lot of different levels and that aspect is only enhanced by his new instincts and powers.

On several occasions, Akira has seemingly reveled in his capabilities, possibly because they are abilities that he had no hope of acquiring in real life, either due to lack of confidence or simple physical inability. We know from the fact that he managed to develop a work around to multibox in full dive that he must have a personality that verges on monomaniacally focused, so it's doubtful that it was just lack of motivation.

But perhaps mentioning all of this is irrelevant because we know for one simple reason that Shiori was not primarily a voyeuristic endeavor and that is the fact that in playing a VRMMO Akira was becoming Shiori rather than simply drooling over her asses on a screen.

Not only that, he went to great lengths to suppress his own masculinity still further while playing Shiori. Rather than simply making a trap male avatar (Look at Kuro in the girl ops manga for a reversed example) Akira actually went to the trouble of digging up and fixing SAO era legacy code so that he could experience ALO as if he were really a woman. If Shiori was simple fetish fuel for a typical male player then having a vagina and female anatomical responses to arousal would probably dampen any sexual gratification very quickly.

I'm left to think that maybe Shiori was less a sexual fetish for Akira and more an emotional surrogate. Though not suffering from gender dissociation, Akira did have many problems with his gender and no strong connection to it such that he began to believe his failings were because he wasn't a _girl_.

And now he is one . . . well three . . . preternaturally strong, swift, and angry young women with magical powers as her disposal and a vicious desire to prove that she can take a stand now to protect the things she cares about. I pity anyone who gets in her way.


	23. Chapter 5 Part 3: On the Ground

Authors Note! - Hello everyone, I'm sure you've all noticed something about the recent updates. That being that there _weren't_ any. For anyone who follow the story closely and was worried this was going dark, fear not, I have still been creating new chapters, I just haven't been posting them. I keep a buffer of chapters so that I can make adjustments and improvements based on feedback. (Sort of like what Studio Trigger did in Kill La Kill, but I've been doing it since before it was _cool_.

Seriously sorry for this taking so long to get up though, since this is the last section of chapter five, I'll be posting some bonus bestiary stuff later today and probably some Omake, so please enjoy and review.

Halkegenia Online v3.0 – Chapter 5 – Part 3

Matilda was honest enough with herself to admit that she enjoyed her creature comforts. She'd been born the daughter of an Earl after all, and had known a life surrounded by privilege and beauty in her childhood. The intervening years of privation had hardened her spirit but done little to dull her appreciation for the little luxuries of life.

And besides that, there was something to be said for good food, a hot bath, a soft bed, and not having to keep constant vigil for that old pervert's mouse, especially when she had more demanding things to think about than securing her own survival. Such as now.

Emerging from the bath she shared with the adjacent hotel room, Matilda busied herself drying her wet hair with a towel while ignoring the chill that gripped at her bare legs, clad now in little more than a thin cotton blouse that fell to mid thigh as she took advantage of her circumstances to have her travel clothes seen to by the serving staff. The high climbs of Albion, coupled with her state of undress were enough to draw a shiver, and raise patches of pale gooseflesh.

"Now then," Matilda thought aloud, "Where was I?"

Turning her head to the north facing window and sitting herself down in the desk chair that looked out on the roofs of the moonslit cityscape, Matilda was reminded again of why she had chosen to stay here.

The _Golden Hind_ catered to merchants, wealthy tradesmen, and the lower ranks of the well to do in Albionian society, those whose business brought them to Kingston on Hull only occasionally and rarely for more than a few days or weeks but not so long as to require a permanent residence.

It was telling enough that the establishment had been allowed to take root in the mercantile district rather than being consigned to the streets around the port or the city outskirts as was the case with most temporary lodgings.

Being that its clientele resided in a comfortable range that was at once above the contempt and beneath the notice of the city's ruling elite, The Golden Hind was a place that Matilda could linger without drawing suspicion of any particular sort and which had the additional benefit of giving her a rather breathtaking view of her next mark, to be arranged in short order on the behalf of Mister Greer.

And with that thought, Matilda's mood began to sour at once, plucking up a single sheet of paper that had been delivered to her by one of Greer's men before she had departed the Hound Pits. Her lips pursed in displeasure. It seemed that Greer had been somewhat _creative_ with the details of Foquet's consultation.

The first of those creative details pertained to the item itself. Matilda had been forced to ask again when she'd first read the description. "Weight of twenty two and one half stone. Two and three quarter mails in height. And one mail of circumference." Reading the rest silently . . .

Greer wasn't describing a treasure, he was describing a _slab_. It was a rock. She was being asked to help steal a rock. Specifically a man sized plug of sarsen sandstone if she were to guess from the details given.

"This thing is a Royal Treasure?" She wandered out loud. One could never be too careful when it came to magic, of course, but it was as likely a sign of the growing madness of the house of Tudor, and maybe of the 'Good' Lord Cromwell as well.

Tossing the paper back onto the desk with a small -humph-, Matilda propped her elbows on the windowsill. So, no easy trinket that could be slipped away in the middle of the night. A shame really. But if it were that easy, Greer wouldn't have been nearly so willing to furnish her with what she wanted in return.

And the fact was, she couldn't waste too much time on this job. Was incapable of doing so, as a matter of fact. The item that Greer had referred to as a 'Heel Stone', was destined to be transported back to Londinium in only three days time, at which point it would probably disappear into one of the vaults of the Former Royal Arsenal or Treasury House. Not unassailable, but almost certainly lost somewhere it would never be found. Finding items was not Foquet's business, retrieving them was.

She'd best get back to work then.

The description of the Heel Stone wasn't the only thing Greer had given her. For a man like Mister Greer, obtaining information was his first trade. Maps of the city. Guard rotations. Floor plans and diagrams of the interior of the building where the Heel Stone was being kept, even its approximate location in the basement levels.

It was the sort of information that Matilda would have been days or weeks in gathering for herself, but which Greer had been able to supply on request. And going through it now, she could only come to one conclusion. Greer was right to want her help.

Out across the city, its steep, tile roofs and slender turrets rising five stories high over the interior walls that subdivided the districts, the palatial residence of Dorian Barnard dominated the noble district, enjoying a commanding view from an elevated position. Of course, that was only for show, the building was no more a castle than the hotel Matilda currently resided in, merely the fancy of its wealthy master.

Dorian Barnard, the second son of the recently deceased Barnard patriarch, and one of two of the deceased Earl's children to side against their father during revolution. The elder brother had been bestowed with his father's title as the new Earl of Barnard, the younger brother, Dorian, had been no less richly rewarded with his new position as the governor of Kingston, acquiring both considerable wealth, and cementing himself as a close ally to Lord Cromwell in the process.

Greer had mentioned that the Heel Stone had previously been in the possession of associates before it had been taken back by Reconquista sympathizers, probably members of city guard under Barnard's employ. Greer thought it was an attempt to buy favor with Lord Cromwell, in which case Barnard wouldn't hesitate to devote all of his resources to the Heel Stone's protection.

That included soldiers from the city garrison, and detachments of Dragon Knights.

"It's not a fortress." The thief repeated thoughtfully. "But damned if it isn't _close_."

Matilda remained still as her mind worked at the problem, gears meshing in intricate patterns behind her eyes. Ideas bubbled to the surface in her mind, and each was tried one after another, like fitting a key into a lock and testing to see if it would turn

The reputation of Foquet was built upon his success as a thief, and the key to how Foquet had been successful for as long as he had was by declining to conform to a single method or technique. Reliance on a method would breed dependence. Repetition encouraged predictability. Together, they promised failure.

Foquet then was a craftsmen whose craft was to find the most appropriate key for any given lock. It was a gift that Matilda might never have discovered she possessed if she had not lost everything.

Sometimes that key was a pretty young maid showing interest in her elderly employer before vanishing one day with a family heirloom. Other times it was a burglar slipping in during the night, melting between the shadows to quickly and efficiently tear open a strongbox and make off with the contents. And when necessary, times when that key was a twenty ton golem caving in an entire manor wing and ripping free a hidden vault.

None of those keys would fit in this case. Not enough time to try infiltration, and the Heel Stone was too heavy to simply be made off with. Brute force wouldn't work either, Matilda was confident of her abilities in a fight, but half of that was picking fights she knew she could win, and a city full of soldiers and Dragon Knights was a bit much, even for her.

Feeling a stretch coming on, Matilda leaned back in her chair, sighing as she felt the tension drain from her uncoiled limbs. If Greer really wanted his rock so badly, all she could think was that he should wait for Barnard to move the bloody thing and hit the convoy when it left the city.

But that wasn't an option either it seemed. Matilda could only guess that Greer didn't fancy leaving the Heel Stone in Albion where it might change hands again. He'd want it off of the White Isle and on to its purchasers as swiftly as possible, the very day of its theft if Matilda were to guess right. Everything he had planned was dependent then on moving the stone quickly through the city and out via a ship.

How exactly he planned to do so would no doubt prove interesting. The district walls would prove a challenge. Taking up one of the maps she had previously discarded, the thief scanned the streets of the Noble's district and then compared them against an elevation map she had also requested through Greer and his contacts.

A look at the maps suggested that the old standby of slipping through the underground drainage channels and making for the cliffs wouldn't work either. Kingston's masters were no fools, and they'd spent a fair deal of effort in blocking off and grating over the old channels with warded reinforcements going down a good hundred mails into the hard stone of Kingston's bedrock.

In any case, that was none of her business. It was not Matilda's job to concern herself with how the item would be removed from the city, only how it would be gotten out of the Barnard estate while leaving no one the wiser.

She took a look at the description of the Heel Stone one more time. Marvelously detailed, going so far as to illustrate the inscription and runes that had been shaped into its surface. Greer's associates must have spent a fair deal of time examining their prize before it had been taken away. It would be a disgusting waste to ship something all the way to the continent only for it to be a forgery.

But really, she should have expected nothing less. Greer had to have been able to get his men inside the estate at some time to learn what they had. Most likely, he had one or two of the guards on his payroll and . . .

"Oh." Matilda said in a small voice, drawing a few strands of damp hair off of her forehead. Something wiggled at the back of her brain, the first tumbler catching on an idea. "Oh."

Putting fingers to one of the maps and tracing out a winding path. It was a possibility, but she had to be sure before she committed herself, it would be no simple thing. She'd have to be gotten in, and out, distractions would need to be arranged, and enough time to carry out the ruse without being caught in the act.

She had to be sure, certain that Greer could hold up to what she needed him to do and that she was not expecting too much. But if he could, it was doable. Albeit it would elevate her involvement to something far more than a consultation.

Greer had probably thought of doing something much the same before abandoning the idea as unworkable. For one thing, it _was _unworkable. Getting one or two of his own men in was one thing, getting out with the treasure was quite another. But who said they actually had to get it out right away? Desirable, but Greer was a flexible man.

The Heel Stone was scheduled to be transported in three days' time and that was her time limit. Once it was gone there would be no reason to keep the space it was being held under such tight surveillance and every reason to loosen security.

"Sarsen sandstone." Matilda whispered under her breath. She had some experience with the stuff, finicky to say the least, but not at all a difficult conjuration. It might be possible if she could be gotten in, and if she worked very, _very_ fast. After that, Mister Greer would likely have no trouble retrieving the Heel Stone at his leisure

After all, the last place anyone ever looked for a stolen treasure was exactly where they'd left it.

As for a diversion, Matilda thought, it was about time she made use of her reputation . . .

* * *

><p>-Thud-<p>

The sound of human flesh striking hardwood with a meaty -smack- and a shouted curse of disbelief. The raucous cheers, or alternatively the curses, of the surrounding spectators.

A wiry little man stepped forward, sundried skin giving him a premature impression of age, a sailor just in from the ships making port. Chopping a hand over the table he ended any further struggle. "That's the seventh win to the Young Lad!" the sailor barked as he slammed a hand down on the shoulder of the black haired youth occupying one of the chairs at the small and heavily mended table, soliciting a grimace of discomfort on the boy's sharp features.

It vanished quickly enough as the boy released his vice-like grip on the hand of his opponent, a sailor half again his size sporting a scraggly and unkempt red beard that was probably supposed to be a sign of masculinity but just ended up looking embarrassing all around.

Drawing up to his full height, a head taller than the boy, the sailor planted a coin on the table, cursing his own bad showing while rubbing his wrist. The youth merely pocketed his winnings, leaning back easily in his chair as he waited for the next challenger to arrive.

No one had paid the pale youth much mind when he'd shown up at the start of the evening and taken a seat in the corner. A slim peasant boy, broadening across the shoulders with the approach of manhood, and very clearly a handsome lad, but still a year or two short of being properly grown. Nothing more than the usual fresh fodder for ship crews and troop levies.

His arrival through the front door of the _Skylark, _an establishment that had earned its reputation as the watering hole of experienced crews, and his prompt ordering of, of all things, a goats milk, had further cemented the first impressions of the sailors and workmen of a boy fresh from the countryside.

So, other than a few bemused looks shot his way, and even fewer comments on the odd apparition that had chosen to show itself in their midst, the denizens of the _Skylark_ had gone back to their drinks and their own conversations. The lad would no doubt be roughed up a bit and shaken down for his purse by some unsavory sorts in the back alleys later that night, it would be an initiation of sorts, and a lesson as to why most of the tavern's clientele came with their mates. Anyway, they had paid him little enough mind.

That was, until he'd gotten himself noticed by some of the sailors playing at games as he wondered by, nursing his flagon of milk like he was one of the men.

They'd seen an easy mark and called for him to have a seat and join them. Most were short on spending money after three days of leave, and they could almost hear the coins jingling in the boy's purse. It'd be a shame to have them relieved from his person by force. Really, they were doing him a service.

At least, that's what they'd thought when the lad cautiously accepted their offer and faced off against the first sailor across the table. The rules were simple, they didn't need to be explained. Squaring off, their elbows planted firmly on the tabletop, clasping hands. A child face to face with a grown man, it was like a kitten picking a fight with a lion. It was almost humorous. So funny in fact that the defending champion hadn't taken the boy at all seriously.

Then the match had begun and the pale flesh of one lean arm had risen up with hard, knotted muscle.

-Thud-

No one thought it was funny anymore.

After his first win, the sailors around the table had fallen silent. After the second, they'd started mumbling sheepishly to one another. By the third, others had started to take notice of what was happening, and by the forth the men who had started the whole thing had seen the opportunity to recoup their losses.

The betting pool had netted them quite the return over the next three rounds as they did unto others what they had at first meant to do to their new best friend.

The youth known to present company as 'Gavan', but who thought of himself as the presently male body of Akira Shirotaka, Shiori, mused that this was just about the most honestly earned money he'd made in his life. Not that he was _short_ on funds or really needed to be doing this. But she'd drawn a little more attention that he'd hoped when she'd first walked in the door. It had called for a change of tactics.

Besides, a nice loud distraction in one corner of the room did make things quieter in the rest of the timber framed building, making it that much easier for her Mahou Shiori self to maneuver into the back corner without raising further notice. There, she had all but melted into the shadows, escaping notice as she watched and listened, as quiet and unobtrusive as her Sword body was loud and brash.

As tempting as it had been, Mahou Shiori hadn't shed her human disguise while her features were hidden in the hood of her cloak. There was no sense in risking it. Her hearing wasn't up to snuff as a 'human', but it was good enough if she closed her eyes and concentrated. More or less.

It was a little more complicated than _just_ concentrating. As she opened her ears and eavesdropped on the voices around her, Shiori concentrated on her breathing, two of hers' breathing anyways, Mahou Shiori, and her Dagger self presently curled up in the shadows of a nearby stable, keeping out of notice.

They'd done this enough times now that she getting increasingly good at it.

Slowly the two of her began to breathe as one, their heartbeats and small facial tics synchronizing until it became difficult for her to tell herselves apart. It was finicky, Shiori found it infinitely easier to think either as three or all three as one rather than to combine her trains of thought like this, and it took an ongoing toll on her attention to keep it up without being distracted by her sword self's thoughts, but that was more than made up for by having a whole extra brain dedicated to listening in to what she heard through her Mahou self.

She'd been right to hit the port district, and righter still to concentrate on the places that blurred the line between gray and black. It all came down to the clientele.

Sailors were an impatient breed.

This was a well known fact to the men and women who made their money by relieving sailors of theirs. Be it food, drink, or the company of women, the men debarking with their wages would be impatient to reacquaint themselves with the comforts offered by civilization, and had little desire to travel far.

The port district of Kingston had risen up to ring the trunk of the harbor tree at the city's heart, a maze of storehouses and auction halls that served the needs of the merchants and nobility whose wealth depended on the steady stream of commerce that flowed through their city. But the port district also served the sailors and workers whose interests were a good deal less pecuniary in nature.

Taverns, brothels, and cheap inns, often all one and the same, and constantly in demand, sprouted up throughout the port district in the shadows of trading houses or tucked away behind storage barns. The steady stream of trade was good for the tavern masters and their girls as well, ensuring a constant supply of new customers.

It had given the port district a reputation that was well known among the residents of Kingston.

All sorts of people passed through, honest sailors standing shoulder to shoulder with smugglers and pirates, and one could never quite be sure what to expect around the tables or in the back rooms where less than legal deals were made behind closed doors. The sorts of deals that would be poisonous to the reputations of the city's established trading interests. Interesting deals, more or less.

Well, every road had to start somewhere, even a path of destruction.

It had seemed like a promising starting place to Shiori, all she had to do was plant herselves someplace inconspicuous and keep an ear to the ground. The rumors would eventually lead her where she wanted to go. In the meantime, she was filling in the picture she had started to build back in Tristain.

First, coming as no surprise to absolutely anyone with a brain, Albion under Lord Cromwell seemed to be a lot like Albion under the Tudors. The 'Army of the Holy Republic' was getting its act together and tightening its grip on the countryside. Meanwhile, the Navy had kicked ship building into high gear to make up for some of the losses they'd suffered at York.

Well, not quite like Albion under the Tudors. Cromwell seemed perfectly happy to reign as first among equals, more or less, where the public opinion held that King James would have just as quickly stamped any upstart's face in, repeatedly, while laughing, for daring to have ambitions above their station.

Lovely.

Hey, there was a novel thought, maybe Cromwell really was a nice guy? Maybe he just wanted what was best for Albion? This was all just a big misunderstanding!

Dagger Shori snickered like it was a bad joke. Not a chance in hell. After all, Necromancer.

No matter how bad the old King had been, if Cromwell looked good compared to the Tudors, it was only because he had a hell of a PR manager. Or maybe he didn't need a PR manager, maybe he was just that good at managing himself.

It sounded that way the more she had listened. There was lots of blame flying around, but not a whole lot of it seemed to be landing on Cromwell's plate. In fact, it sounded like he was very good at playing the nobles against each other.

Take for instance the local noble who had been made Governor of Kingston. It was a nice and blatant payoff for his help during the rebellion, but if it was just a payoff, Shiori would eat her own wings.

Dorian Barnard had gotten the city, but his older brother had been given their father's title as the Earl of Barnard and his political office in Londinium. Seeing as both had been happy to conspire against their own father to take everything for themselves, neither of them was too happy to share with their sibling.

In other words, the two brothers had every reason to squabble with each other and were too busy seeking favor from the man who had awarded them their status to plot against him.

Chances were good that Cromwell had done something similar with most of the other nobles in his little empire. The ones important enough to bother with anyway.

One of the sailors, the one who was serving as referee, approached Sword Shiori, planting another frothing flagon on the table.

To his acute senses, the smell of cold goats milk partly masked the sharper, more volatile aroma of alcohol, and for a brief moment Shiori had pondered whether it was really at all wise to be drinking at a time like this. Her Fae metabolism would burn the alcohol off fast, no fear of that, and her male body had some extra mass to play with. But she really couldn't afford the background fuzz of a drunk mind at a time like this.

"It would serve you to loosen up a bit, lad. Enjoy yourself!" The sailor who Shiori had learned was called Davy gave a bark of harsh laughter. "You'd think your mum was about to come and swat you 'cross the backside!"

'Gavan's' eyes swept from Davy to the others gathered around the table and then back to the metal cup, its surface beading with condensation. He was the distraction after all. Sword Shiori took the flagon and drew down on it in big gulps, the sailors cheering as his Adam's apple bobbed. He only stopped to take a breath, slamming the cup back onto the table.

"See now? That wasn't so hard, was it?" Davy's laughter was punctuated by another slap on the back, and another, each requiring Shiori to suppress her twitch reflex to lash out.

"My mother always told me to drink my milk and juice so I'd grow up big and strong." Gavan said politely. "Maybe if you'd listened to _yours _you wouldn't be losing to a country boy who's never set foot on thin air."

Davy's face was caught between a grin and scowl as the others joined in laughing. "Come on now, you're all acting like you weren't just as surprised!"

"But you're the one who thought it'd be a lark!" one of the others pointed out.

"Too true!" a third agreed as the laughing and arguing started up once again.

"Now you listen here!"

It was sort of funny, Shiori thought as she watched them. The warmth, the merrymaking, she could feel it the same way that a deaf person could 'hear' or how some blind people could 'see' well enough to sense day and night. She was aware of what was happening around her, but all it elicited was a vague impression and a sense of unease that made her want to head for the door.

She was almost done here anyways, then she could get out.

Situated at a back table, two of the diners hadn't bothered to join in the diversion up front. Their conversation was much too important for that, and the way they whispered just screamed that it was something interesting.

There was the fact too that one of them was trying very hard not to look like what he was, one of Dorian Barnard's staff, Shiori had followed him here after catching wind over the previous few days. His name was Patrick Geordy and he was a secretary to the younger Barnard brother, a man barely out of his twenties, but already with his hair going prematurely gray.

If Dorian Barnard entrusted him with business like _this,_ then he was more than just trusted.

"I assume it will be to schedule." Geordy asked the other man, a member of one of the Trading Houses that was also trying hard not to look like what he was. Dagger Shiori had seen him on his way in from her vantage outside. "My master has no stomach for waiting."

The merchant gave a little -harumph- and a look of disgust. "We've made the arrangements. All very confidential."

"Are you sure? This mustn't get spread around." Geordy insisted. "If Mister Greer catches word of this . . . "

"Yes, yes, I _know_ blast it. It's simply been _difficult _since our good Governor made enemies of the man. Maybe he should have thought a little more strategically," his contact breathed, eyes glancing around the room.

Between good hearing and her hiding skill, Shiori didn't have much to worry about.

To them, it would appear that nobody was paying them much mind, they'd have to be either very paranoid, or very suspicions for their eyes to linger for long on the small table less than a dozen paces away where Mahou Shiori sat with her head bowed.

"Greer is a scoundrel and a dog that you give entirely too much credit." The secretary pressed his lips into a thin, emotionless line. "And the money is to keep secrets _secret_."

"Like I care a whit for your ambitions!" The Merchant snorted shortly. The man either had a temper, or it had been worn thin in past meetings.

"Now then, the inventory we discussed?"

"Warehouse twenty five oh seven," the merchant supplied. "But not until tomorrow night."

"That will be cutting things very fine." Geordy lowered his voice. "The master's affairs are coming to a head at the moment. The feeling that his personal guards are not up to the task . . . "

"Not until tomorrow." The merchant got up so quickly that Mahou Shiori almost flinched sympathetically. "We're getting one last shipment tonight. Some of our local stocks are also coming in to make up the difference. I assume he'll want to inspect personally, like last time."

Geordy nodded, once, without taking his eyes from the merchant.

_That_ was what Shiori wanted to hear, the mark coming to _her_. Getting into that _castle_ that Barnard called a house might have been a bit much, even for her.

Lying in wait? _Much _easier.

A frown on the merchant's face not really directed at Geordy or himself, but more to the whole affair. "I know that he demands the highest quality."

"Then I advise you not to disappoint." Geordy said with cold, emotionless voice. "Tomorrow then . . ."

"At warehouse twenty five oh seven. You already know the appointed time."

While Shiori did not, which meant more waiting.

Geordi gave his accomplice a contemptuous look. "Cheer up. I was under the impression that merchants _preferred_ repeat business."

A dangerous narrowing of eyes was all the answer given before the contact made off, stocking towards the door. Two men near the front of the tavern rose together to follow after him.

Shiori played with the idea of sending herself after them. Dagger Shiori could easily track them all the way back to their quarters. But in the end, it wasn't worth it, she had what she'd came for.

Cities were big places. That was something that Akira had understood from a young age. The sense of being insignificant used to freak him out; at least, before he'd found refuge in an equal sense of anonymity. The fact that he could be surrounded by people but didn't have to deal with any of them.

Kingston on Hull was huge by local standards, though back home its population would have fit comfortably in one quarter of his home town. That was still a lot of ground to keep secrets in, hundreds of streets, thousands of buildings, and _tens_ of thousands of people.

Luckily for her, there really was only one game in town and his name was Dorian Barnard.

Shiori really didn't care too much about the politics, what Barnard's status was in his family pecking order, or the fact that he was probably a patricide. All that mattered was that he was one of Cromwell's boys, and high enough up that he probably knew the short list of people that the Lord of Albion kept close at all times. Even if he didn't know which was the Necromancer, envious person that he was, she'd bet he'd know who Cromwell _trusted_.

The possibility left her itching for a private chat. There was just one problem. Security.

Having a whole city in his pocket definitely gave Barnard the home field advantage. On the other hand, it appeared to be a less than well kept secret that the Master of Kingston had private interests he saw to himself.

The rumors were sparse on details. It was known that Barnard was an antiquarian, even before he'd been awarded his governorship of Kingston. Now that he ran the place as his personal fiefdom, he could indulge his hobbies to his heart's content.

This didn't sound like a stop at the antique dealers. It sounded like something bigger was going down. Maybe big enough to wait and see . . .

Within the shadows of her cloak, Mahou Shiori could not help but wrinkle her nose. She didn't care to let an opportunity pass her by.

The Sailors didn't pay Sword Shiori, 'Gavan', any mind when his lips twisted in a grimace.

Hidden safely outside, Dagger Shiori could indulge in a dark little chuckle, it didn't matter one way or another, she'd already decided.


	24. Interlude: ALO Bestiary 2

Encyclopedia Albionia - ALfheim Bestiary Entry 2 - Bestial Transformations - Don't Worry, it's Argo's Zoological Reference!

**Avian**

Vedolfnir the Withering Winds

Appearance- An immense, black and white feathered hawk. (The closest match physically is the Ferrugenous Hawk, obviously excluding coloration and size. - Argo)

Type - Legendary Beast  
>Length - 8 meters<br>Wingspan - 24 meters  
>Weight - Approximately 6.5 tons. (Yeah, how about you don't put this here. - Morgiana)<br>Diet - Carnivorous, glides at high altitude before swooping down to capture pray. (Prefers Cattle, horses, and deer, but is known to ambush smaller dragons.)  
>Reproduction- Unknown. (As a boss, there is only one in the wild which is incidentally know to be male. Given the lack of genetic defect in any first generation Mob life, it might be suggested that a breeding program be initiated to secured these creatures for our cavalry. -Mortimer) (Not just no, but hell no! I don't need giant Hawk babies calling me mommy! - Morgiana) (Also, I think Eugene would hunt down the Real Vedolfnir for Founder's Day dinner if this ever looked likely . . . -Argo)<br>Intelligence- High. Solitary.  
>Behavior- Mildly Aggressive. This Mob rarely attacks unless hungry or threatened.<p>

Spell List - (We need to have Morgi-chan play around with these and see if she can unlock her spells. - Argo) (Oy, again, people already think I really _am_ a giant hawk! If I spend any more time in that form, that rumor might never die down! - Morgiana)  
>Withering Wind<br>Magic Barrage  
>Ability List-<br>Sonic Scream  
>Burst Dash<p>

Common Varieties-  
>Only one Vedolfnir is known to inhabit ALfheim, nesting on a small floating island that has since materialized in Southern Tristain. (The Local Pixies worship Vedolfnir as a Venerated Child of Yggdrasil, one of the first small lives to be shepherded as ALfheim grew from the flotsam of the Sea of Chaos. They currently keep Vedolfnier in check, and are in turn under its protection. - Argo)<p>

Overview - A Legendary Beast type Boss existing in ALfheim prior to the transition. Vedolfnir was well known as a powerful mid level boss with excellent flight characteristics and a balanced attack style that made it a challenge for even an experiences raid group. While its overall stats are lowers than those of other bosses, between its flight ability, and aerial bonuses, in the hands of the Phantom Queen this form is easily a match for all but the most powerful dragons and mages. (Damn straight! - Morgiana)

Vedolfnir's hunting habits are similar to those of normal hawks, preferring to use it's acute vision to hunt for other pray from the sky. It is particularly fond of Archeopterrors which are frequently too stupid to flee before this monster hawk is upon them. After downing its prey, Vedolfnir will either gorge itself on the ground, or, in the case of small prey, carry the animal back to its nest to consume at its leisure. (This Boss has been shown able to carry up to a thousand kilograms. - Argo) (Yeah, but it ain't easy! And again, the answer is NO Eugene, you may not _ride_ me into battle! - Morgiana)

The most exceptional traits of this Mob are its speed and sensory acuity. Vedolfnir is quite fast for its size. (We've clocked Morgi-chan at over 180 kph in sustained level flight, and 250 kph in a dive. Using Burst dash she can cover a kilometer in about seven seconds. - Argo) Visual acuity of this mob is excellent, easily able to spot small animals, humans, and Faeries, from nearly a kilometer above the ground. (Morgiana-sama must be co-opting a part of Vedolfnier's brain to do the image processing. Interesting . . . - Hyuuga)

In terms of combat ability, Veldolfnir possesses an array of abilities that make it a uniquely dangerous fighter. Examination of Vedolfnir's talons has revealed a serrated, possibly mono molecular edge, and both talons possess more than sufficient grip strength to crush stone. A favored stratagem of this Mob is to utilize its talon's for a fatal ambush strike, diving from high altitude or through cloud cover to finish its pray in a single attack to the back. (Talk about going for the throat! - Argo) This Boss' beak is no less deadly, able to cleanly slice through muscles and tendons and possessing enough leverage to shatter bone.

Veldolfnir's magical abilities are equally impressive. Withering Wind Is a wide area effect that generates a powerful, turbulent wind stream around Vedolfnir, more than capable of driving unsuspecting Faeries and Dragons from skies and dragging down small airships. Magic Barrage is a saturation Magic Missile Style Attack which seeks out targets in Vedoflnir's vicinity. Each attack does limited damage but may be followed by dozens of additional strikes, each carrying a concussive effect. (Danger, this attack makes no distinction for friend or Foe! - Argo) (Marina think's she might have a solution to that . . . - Morgiana)

Finally, Vedolfnir possesses an enhanced version of the Archeopterror Sonic Scream, permitting it to temporarily daze large groups of enemies. This has proven particularly effective while engaging multiple Dragon Knights simultaneously.

**Demonic**

Tanngrisnir the Yellow Fanged

Appearance - A giant Baphomet Type Field Boss possessing a wiry, muscular build, short brown fur, and glowing red eyes.  
>Type - Legendary Beast<br>Height - 8 meters  
>Weight - Approximately 20 tons.<br>Diet - Carnivorous, hunts in the lower levels of the underground corridors.  
>Reproduction - Unknown. (Now if only Asuna-san had become a female type, we could have had a breeding pair. - Mortimer) (Mortimer, that's disgusting! Argo-san, redact this! -Sakuya) (Once I'm done dealing with the loss of SAN -Argo)<br>Intelligence - Medium. Solitary creature. (The crafted items on its body suggest a higher degree of intelligence. But this could be similar to a dog's leash . . . Scary puppy. -Argo) (Which means there might also be something nasty enough to keep Tanngrisnir as it's guard dog . . . - Kirito)  
>Behavior - Highly aggressive, will attack on sight. (Because it lives underground, it possesses an excellent sense of smell and hearing as well as good night vision, if it sees you, you're basically already dead. - Argo)<p>

Spell List -  
>NA  
>Ability List-<br>Terrifying Presence  
>Flame Breath<p>

Common Varieties-  
>There is a related Boss Mob to Tanngrisnir known as Tanngjostr. (They're actually brother bosses.) Tanngjostr is by far the more powerful. (In ALfheim, its STR stat was roughly four times greater than Tranngrisnir. - Argo), and exchanging claws for a massive Dark Amalgam Sword. Tanngjostr also gains the ability to use powerful Buff and Debuff magic, a permanent regenerative buff, and upgrades its Flame Breath to Lightning Breath. (It sound's like the Gleam Eyes' big brother! We think Kii-bou might be able to obtain this form if he seriously improves his magic ability . . . Better start hitting the books, Kii-bou. -Argo)<p>

Overview - A terrifyingly powerful beast from the darkest depths of ALfheim's underground Corridors. The form of Tanngrisnir resembles a Baphomet, a demon possessing a goat's head and fur covered, humanoid body. Prior to the release of the Jottunheimer expansion, Tanngrisnir was considered one of the most difficult field bosses despite its limited range, due to its high land speed (In excess of 100 kph -Argo) and the fact that it resided underground.

After the Transition, there have been only hints of this Boss Mob's presence within the deepest caverns and galleries of the underground Corridors, however, in every instance, the Raid Party Leaders have wisely ordered a withdrawal rather than risk facing the Boss on its home turf. (I believe there is potential to capture this Boss alive and attempt taming and weaponization. We need only a sufficient number of Earth Mages to trap it within one of the smaller corridors and restrain it with binds. Alternatively, Kirito-san might do. -Mortimer) (Yeah, no. - Argo)

While hunting, Tanngrisnir is hypothesized to be an ambush predator, using its incredible speed and razor sharp claws to swiftly subdue it pray within the darkness of the Corridors, aided by its acute senses and powerful, but short ranged flame breath weapon. (Given examination of some of the subterranean life from ALfheim, it is suspected that Tanngrisnir's flame breath is used to denature and weaken some of the poisons found its prey by first cooking its meals. Kii-bou, make learning this attack a priority. You wouldn't deny your daughter the chance to ride a fire breathing demon, would you? - Argo)

Facilitating its attack, Tanngrisnir possesses diamond hard teeth and phenomenal bite strength, capable of crushing a soldier equipped in Dark Amalgam armor with almost no difficulty. Even more terrifying, its Dark Amalgam imbued claws possess unique properties that allow them to slice through virtually all magical or physical defenses. (This may be a relic of ALfheim where Tanngrisnir's claw attacks ignored all Def. - Argo) (Oh fuck, it's a deathclaw! - Caramella)

Tanngrisner Possesses no spells but is equipped with two special abilities. Terrifying Presence is a wide area debuff which causes reduction to ATK, DEF, MGC, and SPD stats thus softening up a party prior to combat. Flame Breath Is a powerful but short ranged sustained flame jet generating temperature in excess of 1200C.

Despite this flame attack, Tanngrisner overwhelmingly prefers melee combat, using its shock, size, and raw speed to devastating effect. (Thus making it the perfect form for Kii-bou! - Argo)

Tanngjostr the Demon Knight

Appearance - A Baphomet type boss possessing short, blue fur, a hulking, muscular physique, and glowing blue eyes.  
>Type - Legendary Beast<br>Height - 10 meters (Stands hunched at roughly eight.)  
>Weight - Approximately 35 tons.<br>Diet - Carnivorous. Currently believed to be dormant somewhere in the very deepest levels of the Corridors. (Suggest collapsing those tunnels to seal it away. - Gaius, 3rd Provisional Cavalry)  
>Reproduction - Unknown.<br>Intelligence - High. Solitary Tool User. (Possesses basic swordsmanship abilities believed to have been salvaged from ALO's combat algorithms. - Argo)  
>Behavior - Extremely Territorial, will repel any attacks on its underground den.<p>

Spell List -  
>Tome of Sinners<br>Tome of Saints  
>Ability List-<br>Lightning Blast  
>Battle Recovery<p>

Common Varieties-  
>A less powerful roaming field boss exists known as Tanngrisnir the Yellow Fanged which is faster but possess otherwise inferior stats and no magical ability. (Kii-bou's current bestial form, we're trying to get him to upgrade! - Argo)<p>

Overview - The ultimate evolution of the Baphomet type field Bosses of ALfheim. Tanngjostr the Demon Knight is among the large humanoid type mobs, built on a similar scale to Jotuns and other small giants. (Standing hunched, Tanngjostr is around eight meters tall - Argo). It is an unmistakable presence if encountered. Possessing short blue fur across its muscular upper body, a short, powerful serpentine tail, and longer, darker fur along the legs down to cloven feet.

Though not as fast in a sprint as its smaller cousins (Tanngjostr is estimated to have a sprint speed around 60 kph - Argo) it is just as dexterous with its attacks, more than capable of catching and parrying blows at a rate similar to a human swordsman. (Come on, this would be perfect for Kii-bou! - Argo) (Tangjostr's reduced speed was partially intended to compensate for its much more powerful stats, thus allowing raid parties to flee the vicinity. - Bishop)

Tanngjostr's body is notably more developed and physically articulated than Tanngrisnir's with more human like proportions and greater fine motor control. This boss lacks the Dark Amalgam Claws and thus DEF ignoring properties of its small(er) sibling, but more than compensates with an incredibly high STR stat and immense Dark Amalgam Sword which it is strong enough to wield one handed.

Tanngjostr is equipped with a pair of unique abilities which well suit it to combat against a variety of different Raid Party Builds. Lightning Blast is an upgrade to the Flame Breath spell utilized by Tanngrisnir. The Spell consists of a powerful, charged lightning shot which can accurately target individual human sized targets out to a range of three hundred meters and sustain fire for up to five seconds. Battle Recovery is a special ability which allows Tanngjostr to heal its wounds in the midst of battle. Judging by smaller monsters that can do this, we think its a sort of magic enhanced regeneration. Obviously, it must have some sort of limit based on energy reserves. - Argo) (I hope so, otherwise Magic is breaking physics even more than I thought! - Hyuuga)

Tanngjostr also possesses two powerful area effect spells. Tome of Sinners is a wide area debuff and upgrade to the Terrifying Presence ability of Tannsgrinir. Tome of Saints is a powerful purifying spells that removes all status ailments from Tanngjostr when cast.

In total, Tanngjostr represent a dangerous threat capable of engaging both melee and magic heavy opponents with little difficult.

**Astral**

Seraphi (Do we really have to do this? - Caramella) (Yes. - Asuna, Argo, Kino, Kirito)  
>Appearance- An extremely rare insectastral type mob possessing large, white, butterfly wings, and a small, humanoid body shrouded in what may be a shear white gown. (Unlike the Pixies, we believe this 'Robe' is actually a membrane formed from the Mob's body and not a sign of tool use. But this is only speculation. We know next to nothing about them. -Argo). Most often seen with brown hair. (The blonde haired varieties are even rarer and considered extra lucky . . . aren't you lucky, Caramel-chan? - Argo) (Please, don't do this. - Caramella) (But you're so cute and _girly_ in that form. Silica-san just wanted to keep hugging you. - Kino) (I can't help it! She looks just like a little angel girl! She's soft and warm, and she smells so sweet and creamy, just like . . . - Silica) (Enough! - Caramella)  
>Type- Medium InsectAstral. Very Little is known about these mobs. They are moderately powerful fighters possessing both modest speed, respectable attack power, and a limited magic arsenal, but have a very small Agro radius. Unlike Pixies, they have displayed neither ability nor desire to communicate and seem content to simply go about their business. (I don't think they can speak. - Caramella.) Strangely, they are almost completely ignored by the other mobs.  
>Height- 30 cm (Avg)<br>Wingspan- 60 cm (Avg)  
>Weight- 4 kilograms (Avg)<br>Diet- Unknown at this time. Suspected to eat fruits and possibly nectar from some of the larger ALfheim flora. (If they eat at all - Argo) (Sorry, I'll get back to you on that. - Caramella)  
>Reproduction- Unknown. (Disturbingly, they seem to have begun appearing around Tarbes, particularly the burned garden. I wonder . . . In ancient tales, Butterflies were often connected to departed souls and afterlife. Is this Cardinal's doing? - Argo) (Please do not interfere with the work of Yggdrasil-sama's handmaidens. - Hinagiku) (I guess that answers that question. - Argo)<br>Intelligence- High (at least, they had advanced behavioral algorithms), extremely solitary. (I don't know about that. Kirito and Morgi-chan say they can feel something. But for me, it's like it's completely blank. Just a . . . hole. I really don't like thinking about it. - Caramella)  
>Behavior- Nocturnal, low aggression unless attacked. (You can get right up to them and they'll probably remain passive.)<p>

Spell List-  
>Magic Missile<br>Holy

Ability List-  
>Seraphi Needle<br>Ethereal Shift

Common Varieties -  
>Seraphi - Common Variety<br>Golden Seraphi - Ultra Rare, considered extremely lucky. Slightly higher stats.  
>Red Seraphi - Three Times Faster than normal.<br>Haloed Seraphi - High Rank, enhanced magic. Only appeared as part of certain quests in ALfheim.

Overview - Seraphi are a unique, insect/astral combination mob found throughout ALfheim prior to the Transition and now primarily in and around the Tarbes area. The reason for this sudden multiplication is unknown. Despite their humanoid appearance and complex behavior, virtually nothing is known about them and attempts to communicate have thus far met with failure. (Frustrating! - Argo) (Hinagiku-san and the other Shamans might know something. But they won't tell me. - Yui)

Seraphi are most frequently found in forests and fields during the night. They possess a moderate flight speed and like Pixies possess effectively indefinite flight endurance. (Interesting, Seraphi weren't on the Bestial Form list prior to the transition and like the other mobs, their indefinite flight ability definitely wouldn't have been inherited by a player. Another way the spell has changed. - Argo) Like Pixies and Faeries, they belong to the class of magic lifters that use innate magic to fly. What, if any, relationship exists between the Pixies and Seraphi remains unknown at this time.

Disturbingly, Seraphi appear to be attracted to death, be it that of a person or animal. They have have been glimpsed near sites of death on many occasions. Though no evidence exists to suggest that they were responsible for the reported deaths, a superstition has developed about these ethereal creatures among many of the Common people and even Faeries. (The superstitions and speculation are too numerous too count. - Argo)

Given this trend, many have attempted to attack the Seraphi out of fear, forcing these mysterious mobs to demonstrate their considerable prowess. While small, the Seraphi possesses very high agility and a special, magically conjured sword referred to as a Seraphi Needle. This sword is seemingly wielded without mass, is extremely sharp, and able to vary in length up to a full length of 30cm. Seraphi also posses the ability Ethereal Shift, which when properly timed, can allow them to evade individual attacks once every ten seconds.

Seraphi magic is limited to Light Type Spells. Particularly, the non elemental homing attack Magic Missile and the local area buff removal spell Holy which also does special damage to undead. (Whether this works on Halkgenian undead is currently unknown. - Argo) ( I . . . I'm willing to find out. - Caramella)

As previously mentioned, Seraphi are not known to communicate and seem to desire nothing from humans or any other mobs. (They do appear to be Holy creatures to the Pixies. - Argo) They will permit humans and Fae to approach them, especially while resting during the day, and have been known to accept water, but no food, when offered.

Notably, their wings tend to collect several types of ALfheim pollen, giving them a unique scent. (Like I was trying to say. They smell just like caramel! - Silica) (I hate you all. - Caramella)


	25. Chapter 6 Part 1: Suit Up

Author's Note - So a fun fact. 's PM functions consider 'Faerie' and 'Fairy' to be a slur and auto sensor it. So if anyone has PM'd me and gotten a weird reply, now you know.

As always, read and review.

Halkegenia Online v3.0 – Chapter 6 – Part 1

"So," the Leprechaun asked, looking out from beneath silver-gray bangs with dreamy eyes, like she wasn't quite all in the present frame, "how do you like it? It's good, right?"

Asuna, Dame Asuna, Maeve of the game world of ALfheim Online and now a Faerie Knight in service to the Crown of Tristain, felt anticipation mix with trepidation, an expression she need only look into the mirrored surface of the helm before her to see reflected back.

She'd been anticipating this for some time, and she still didn't know quite how she felt about it. A little pleased with the end result, but also uncomfortable. Now, standing here in the armory that had been reserved for the special use of the Yggdrasil Knights, she came face to face with her future self.

The Maeve took a step back to study the equipment from boots to helm. She'd seen the individual pieces before, during hours of fittings where the smiths and tailors had taken her measurements and made adjustments, but this was the first time she'd seen everything brought together as a finished piece.

It made it all so much more real this way.

Fitted over a wooden mannequin, the armor stood before Asuna as if it was already being worn, back straight, legs shoulder width apart, arms at rest, only lacking the sword at her side. Sleek, silver-white plates of mithril over a layer of spun silk, armor that she had been promised would be proof against even point blank musket fire. Asuna had every reason to believe that promise after witnessing the demonstrations.

The simple fact was, she wasn't going to be going into battle without it. Lord Mortimer, and even more so, Kirito, wouldn't allow it to be any other way, and being honest with herself, she wouldn't either.

Previously, in SAO by choice and Albion by circumstance, Asuna had avoided heavy body armor, getting by instead with her agility to dodge attacks and her high HP to, hopefully, save her if things went awry. She'd occasionally supplemented her stats with light metal equipment, usually a simple breastplate, but anything that slowed her down or encumbered her movements was a double edged sword and was usually unwelcome.

In Aincrad, people had argued endlessly over whether AGI or STR builds were superior, avoiding the damage versus Tanking it. Well in that case, Asuna had been a firm believer in the AGI strategy.

Not getting hit was still a very good strategy in the real world. In fact, it was an even better strategy than in SAO or ALO. Their bodies weren't simply avatars of Faeries anymore, damage and injury were not abstractions represented by an arbitrary subtraction from HP, nor could a person be restored instantly to health.

A strike that Asuna could have tanked in SAO and thought nothing more of could now be crippling. Slashes could cut muscles and tendons, stray bullets or arrows could strike her in the head or throat, and shrapnel from near misses could be driven fast enough to sever anything from an artery to a limb.

Looking at it that way, the fact that she'd survived all of her battles in Halkegenia as spells, bullets, and wood slivers flew about, was more than a minor miracle. Wearing armor was non-negotiable.

Queen Henrietta had agreed and had insisted on only the best for her new Knights, commissioning the elite crafters in Gouibniu and the TRIST engineering branch to provide equipment equivalent to Legendary and Ancient grade weapons and armor. Asuna doubted the Queen would be disappointed with the results.

"It's certainly very nice," Asuna said.

It really was very nice. No. The truth was that it was more than just nice, it wasbeautiful. Almost beautiful enough to lay her doubts to rest.

The Leprechaun gave Asuna a few moments to take everything in before continuing. "I thought you'd say something like that," Hegent said, deeply satisfied that her predictions had been correct. "We tried hard to take all of your feedback into account when we were making the adjustments. It's patterned on a suit ofLegendary grade armor that's popular with Undine players, but we used high grade mats like mithril alloy that you'd only usually find in Ancient grade gear. That allowed us to reduce the weight and provide maximum protection," the engineer announced proudly. From the sound of it, she had every right to be. "There were also a lot of artistic flourishes that compromised the strength of the armor, we took those out so it can actually do its job and protect you. So . . ."

"So?"

Asuna glanced over, she'd been just about to touch her index and middle fingers to the shiny metallic surface of the helmet, a little mystified by the complete lack of eye slits. She wondered how they made that work now that the equipment wasn't a game item, and decided it was probably Magic.

Hegent, the Leprechaun Hegent, engineer of the Faeries and official member of the TRIST, bounced up and down on the balls of her feet in anticipation. Clasping her hands behind her back, she grinned broadly. "You want to try it out right? We can have you fitted in less than half an hour."

Now that was a surprise. "Really?"

The Leprechaun's head bobbed. "Luckily we got all of your measurements as we were fitting the pieces, so there's just some small adjustments to make. The under armor is supposed to be easily adjustable so that we can account for changes in body shape."

"So what you're saying is, don't start packing on the pounds or everyone will know?"

Asuna rolled her eyes as she looked over her shoulder to where Caramella leaned against the wall. The former Army player and current Faerie Knight of Tristain had already been fitted in her own medium weight amalgam mail armor, colored in deep grays, greens, and blues as a homage to her past guild.

"I'll have you know I haven't gone one kilo over weight," Asuna sniffed with faux offense. And if she had, she'd burned it off through physical training to keep up her rapier skills. "And besides, shouldn't you be worrying about yourself first? Kino sure has been asking me for a lot of recipes lately."

"Eh?" Caramella shrugged. "A girl needs her protein if she's going to do strength training. I'm bound to thicken up a little. That's just the price of admission to the gun show," said the Nymph as she flexed her arms.

Thankfully, nobody else in the armory paid her much mind, save for Asuna who had to try hard not to burst out laughing. She supposed that sort of attitude was to be expected from a girl who fought with a decidedly tank build.

"Anyways, we can have you all fitted up right away," Hegent repeated, reaching for the clipboard she'd left on the table. "You can wear it around and get a feel for moving and fighting in it."

Asuna nodded. That was why she was here. There was no sense in waiting.

Hegent raised a hand to her mouth and called to another Leprechaun who had just finished giving a similar talk to a short and slight Imp named Ascherit in the far corner of the room. "Hey Yu-chan, can you get the fitting room ready, and call Alison-chan?"

The shorter Leprechaun seemed to jump in place, nodding quickly, then turned to apologize fervently to Ascherit. The Imp simply smiled and waved that it was alright. Asuna had spoken to him a few times since he'd been assigned to Kirito's squad for multi-team maneuvers, a soft-spoken young man who was so anxious not to offend that he sometimes grew high strung just being polite.

His mastery of Darkness Magic and an unconventional mind for tactics had caught her eye more than once. Asuna hadn't thought to ask for details, but she suspected his skill set was a result of being a Hogei-sen assassin, as was his nervous politeness.

"Alright then," Hegent smiled dreamily. "Go ahead and get naked."

Asuna blinked as the Leprechaun's words sank in, and then flushed furiously. "You don't mean right here!" Caramella snickering at her back. She couldn't!

"Don't be silly. The fitting room, the fitting room." Hegent chuckled. "What, did you think I wanted you to strip in the middle of the armory?"

"We had someone do that once," the other Leprechaun, 'Yu-chan', said with a note of disapproval. "He-chan just wants to see if she can get it to happen again." She looked reproachfully at the taller Leprechaun. "Stop that!"

"An experiment must be repeatable to provide validity!" the TRIST engineer answered cheerfully. "You keep telling me I shouldn't say it that way because itinvites confusion, but not one other person has gotten naked in the middle of the room, so obviously that was just an outlier. Honestly Yuyu, you need to think more like a scientist!"

Huffing something about being an engineer, Yuyu took Asuna gently by theshoulder and pointed her towards the rear of the building where a short hallway lead to offices, the storerooms, and the fitting room.

The fitting space couldn't be said to be large. In fact, it was quite small. It didn't need to be big, though. It had just enough room for a mannequin, a mirror, a small platform for fitting and a stool for the fitter. The room had been thoughtfully furnished with narrow windows near the ceiling to discourage peepers.

Asuna didn't have long to wait before a very tall, dark haired Cait Syth arrived with arms full of supplies. Yuyu followed right behind her with the first components for fitting. Asuna was instructed to disrobe as they set to work.

The armor was less a single article of clothing and more of a protective cocoon. It had layers, starting from the inside with a padded cotton and wool garment that was meant to help soften impacts such as from a sword swing or a bullet strike and also to provide cooling by drawing sweat away from the body to where it could evaporate more easily. Putting on the first layer felt like dressing in a full body sock, but it didn't stop there. After tugging and pulling at the form fitting garment and making some last adjustments, they proceeded to the next step.

The outer fabric component was less elastic and more constricting, comprised of a spun silk material that had to conform tightly to the wearer's body to help spread out an impact such as from a bullet or arrow. The silk jacket started out feeling snug and simply grew tighter as Alison drew it in, nimble hands working with near mechanical speed.

"Sorry about the big hassle," Yuyu apologized as Asuna felt her insides being squeezed to goo by the Cait woman.

"It's . . . fine . . ." Asuna sighed as the pressure gave way just a little and her ribs expanded back out. This must have been what it was like to wear a corset.

"Good?" Alison asked as she held a piece of cord between her teeth.

"Yeah," Asuna said, relieved, right until the pressure redoubled and the woman went to work tying everything off.

"Like I said, sorry and all. It has to be tight to protect you," Yuyu repeated. "The good news is that once we're done, the armor can be left assembled in the field so that you can take it off and put it on more easily. Oh, and if it's fitted properly you won't have anything to worry about from stray musket fire."

"That . . . is . . . good . . . news . . ." Asuna cringed as Alison pulled tighter and tighter, until it felt like the armor was becoming a second skin. Caramella hadn't been kidding about this equipment. It would probably loosen up a little with wear, she hoped.

The cloth components of the armor complete, they proceeded to the outer layer, the plate armor that was attached, piece by piece, adjusted, measured, and then adjusted again before finally being tied off. Shins, forearms, chest and back, supplemented by wyrm leather padding where flexibility was needed. Asuna was permitted to adjust the arm guards and gloves and was at last handed her helmet.

"Uhm, we've got a bit of problem back here," Yuyu spoke up.

"Oh?" Asuna answered in the fashion of everyone who had ever been to a tailor's by trying to turn to look at her own back.

"Yeah, the helmet's a pretty tight fight, not like that lender you've been using," Yuyu summarized. "You might need to start wearing your hair in a braid so it doesn't get all over the place. Either that or cut it . . ."

"Braid," Asuna said without a second thought.

"Are you sur-?"

"Braid!" Asuna repeatedly firmly. Definitely a braid! After her ordeal as Sugou's prisoner, she finally had her hair back to the way she liked it. She wasn't going to cut it short if she could help it.

"Braid it is then." Yuyu nodded. "Let me do it for you this time, okay?"

Asuna gave her thanks, turning her attention to the helmet in her gloved hands while Yuyu worked. It was just as smooth and aerodynamic as the rest of the armor, and devoid of anything that could so much as be called a face. The one concession to the living thing that would wear it was the pair of small, metallic fins that protruded to the sides, just large enough for a slim pair of Faerie ears.

When Yuyu was finished, she gave Asuna the go ahead to slip the helmet on and then showed her how to adjust the straps and netting that would hold it in place and provide padding while the helmet was being worn.

The first thing that surprised Asuna upon donning the helm was how well she could still see and hear. The fins must have contained protected ear holes, and the faceless, opaque surface that comprised the front section of the helmet was completely transparent when viewed from the inside. The only thing more surprising was how easily she could breath. She'd expected the helmet's padded interior to feel a lot more stuffy and confining, but other than the faint smell of leather padding, the air remained dry and fresh.

"Comfy? Good. Now then, I want to make sure there's no problems with your field of vision because of the way we have it fitted," Yuyu instructed, taking a card from her pocket and holding it high overhead. "Just tell me if you lose sight of this, okay?"

Asuna was made to stand still while the Leprechaun moved the card up and down and then, strangely, asked her if she needed her to repeat the test in reverse. When asked why that might be necessary, Yuyu had simply shrugged. "Some people prefer it that way, I'm not really sure why. So your vision is good all around? Good. Alison?"

The Cait was making the last adjustments to Asuna's scabbard, ensuring that it was properly attached to her belt and wouldn't come loose or interfere with her movement. Finally, she stepped back to admire her work. "We didn't do half bad,"she decided, a pleasant purr carrying beneath her voice. "That just leaves what Asuna-san thinks. So, how does it feel? Everything snug?"

Asuna shifted her weight from side to side, working her shoulders and arms. No serious restrictions to her movement, and Faerie strength made the armor feel quite a bit lighter than she would have expected. The fitting had done a good job of distributing that weight too as Asuna hopped down from the fitting platform and walked a narrow line from one side of the small room to the other. The balance was nearly perfect.

At last, Asuna turned to the corner of the room. She'd been careful not to look in the mirror while they did the fitting, now she surrendered to the temptation. What she saw gave the Maeve pause.

Seeing the suit fitted to her body was as different as inspecting it on the mannequin.

'Dame Asuna.'

There was something sort of embarrassing about being called that even though everyone around her took it very seriously. Probably because she hadn't felt like much of a Knight. But at least now she looked the part. Cocooned in her armored skin from head to toe, it would be hard to say for sure if the figure standing in front of the mirror was a person or a golem.

"Okay, try your wings now," Yuyu instructed. "They shouldn't have any trouble conjuring now that the armor's been adjusted."

Asuna did as she was told, feeling her wings unfurl from her back and then split into their three flight pairs. The Knight in the mirror replicated the motion exactly, six slender, gossamer appendages spreading wide. Her wings didn't have any trouble moving freely either.

"It's good," Asuna decided. She'd been expecting she'd have to sacrifice more for the protection she was getting in return. She'd been pleasantly surprised.

"Very nice, very nice!" The Leprechaun clapped her hands together. "You'll want to try it out for a while in case any problems crop up."

"Un." Asuna nodded, the motion exaggerated by her helm. "The training fields are clear right now, I want to try out some moves and get a feel for how it will affect my agility."

"Right then." The smith nodded. "Come back when you're done and give us any observations. We're always eager to improve our workmanship!"

Caramella was still waiting when she returned to the main room, grinning as she got a good look at the new 'White Knight.' Asuna was glad she hadn't taken off the helm just yet. It helped to hide how embarrassing that sounded.

"What? It looks good on you!" Caramella protested as they left the armory for the crowded central campus of the Champ de Mars training center. "I mean, really like a Knight in Armor." Looking very thoughtful she added, "Though I guess that would make Kirito the 'Black Knight'. Hopefully that doesn't end up being a jinx . . ."

"It better not!" Asuna warned as she tucked her helmet into the crook of her arm. This weather really was a bit hot to be in full armor.

She worried enough about Kirito's bodily safety as it was. Which was exactly why her Spriggan husband had found himself going through the same fitting process himself, settling on a similar suit of low profile full body armor that was, if anything, even more heavily reinforced than Asuna's own.

Armor of similar quality was also being issued to the Defense Force assault teams and combat skirmishers, although the expense and rarity of the necessary materials would almost certainly limit their issuance to the elite teams, while combat squads with lower priority were limited to 'mere' Legendary grade gear or below.

At least they could rest easy that the Faerie volunteers would be well protected, Asuna thought, though that left . . . Her eyes wondered to the soldiers passing all around them, commoners and mages alike.

There were Faeries too, scattered here and there, talking among themselves or with human soldiers. A pair of Sylphs gesticulating furiously as they described an aerial maneuver to a curious Dragon Knight. Several gigantic Gnomes shouldering light cannons and wagon axles like they weighed almost nothing. A trio of Salamanders hurrying to catch up with their training team.

Two Faerie Knights walking in their midst was bound to draw attention, the ones who knew Asuna either saluted of gave small deferential bows as she passed.

A growing feeling of self-consciousness took hold and refused to be pushed back down, and with it, more than a small feeling of guilt. The armor she was wearing was of the very best quality and had taken plenty of time to make. How many of those soldiers could be better protected for the cost that had gone into keeping her safe?

Gouibniu's smiths and crafters were doing good business with the soldiery that could afford Faerie equipment. Ambitious front line officers and Dragon Knights were being offered stipends by the army to improve their personal armament. A good cuirass and helmet of Gnomish steel was something that even a junior lieutenant could afford, and offered protection that was only rivaled by the best native armor.

By comparison, the commoners had yet to benefit much from Faerie craftsmanship. The effort to introduce mass production was still in its infancy, and without factories and a modernized system of distribution, the magicless forces of Tristain could be counted fortunate to be receiving their new muskets and uniforms on time.

Asuna reminded herself that she couldn't think of it that way. War was brutal and she was already unfortunate to have seen just a tiny sliver of it in Albion. Lessons with Lord Mortimer and the books he'd lent to her promised that as bad as what she'd seen was, it would only get worse. The whole point of becoming a Knight was to stand in front of that danger and protect those behind her.

Thinking of it that way, it was a heavy responsibility, but one that she could bear with pride.

"You've gotten quiet, something on your mind?" Caramella tilted her head to the side. "I wasn't serious about that whole Black Knight thing!"

"No, it's nothing like that," Asuna promised. "It's just . . . What's going on up there?"

It was clear by the shouting and cheers that something was happening in the parade square, and judging by the way soldiers were hurrying to see for themselves, chances were that it was something a little out of the ordinary. Furthermore, judging by a certain red haired samurai taking bets at the back of the crowd, Asuna was fairly sure she knew who was at the center of attention. A sense of dread wormed its way into Asuna's stomach.

"Oh boy." Caramella chased after her as Asuna went storming in to get to the bottom of things.

"Klein!" Asuna was feeling distinctly unamused.

"Oy, Asuna!" The Salamander waved her down. "Fancy seeing you here. Care to place a . . . hey nice armor! Finally siding with us tank builds, huh?"

"Klein!" Asuna repeated. "What's the meaning of this?" Though she already knew, or rather, dreaded, looking at the heaps of coins stacked neatly at the crouching Salamander's side.

The scruffy lizard scratched at the back of his head, his grin only growing slightly nervous. "Erm, well . . . it's . . . Let's just go with it being a training drill. How about that?"

No, not 'How about that'! "Training drills don't involve betting pools, Klein. This is a duel, isn't it?" Asuna squinted as she looked at the figures tallied on a piece of paper. "And why are Kirito-kun's odds only two to three?"

Kirito was synonymous in her mind with 'absolute strongest' so seeing anyone getting favorable odds was more than a little jarring.

Klein shrugged. "Hey, Kirito is the one who came up with this, don't look at me. He's splitting the take fifty fifty with the challenger."

"What?" Asuna craned her neck, trying to get a look over the human wall blocking off the view of the drill grounds before remembering that she could simply fly, hovering just high enough to see the duel that had so suddenly demanded everyone's attention. A good look was all that was needed for things to start to make sense.

The parade square was a large area fronting the Headquarters Building and designed to house the entire Champ de Mars barracks during morning muster. The surface of the square, by tradition, rather than being made of brick or laid stones was instead a single smooth surface of seamlessly fused stone.

Asuna had been informed that the monolithic construction meant that the parade square often developed cracks that had to be repaired by whichever mage happened across them first. Even if that person was a General, they were responsible for repairing the flaw. It was a show of constant diligence underlined by the fact that Asuna had never seen the parade ground looking anything short of perfectly unblemished.

Until today that was. All Asuna could think was that all of those hard working mage officers who had dutifully upheld their tradition were probably crying right now. Asuna would be crying too if her hard work had been turned into a shattered battle zone by six bronze giants and a swordsman in obsidian black.

'Kirito-kun'. Asuna grimaced.

Now that she had an aerial vantage she could see the challenger standing on the far side of the parade square, blond-gray mop of hair hanging loosely over gray blue eyes. General Belgen de Gramont held a thin lipped smile, his fingers tapping to a rhythm against his leg, while his wand waved to and fro like a Maestro to direct his golems.

And from the looks of it, the General had earned his reputation as a master of earth magic. Asuna had fought golems before in training, big and clumsy, and for all of their strength, surprisingly fragile. Those golems had been created by Dot and Line mages, and were nothing like the six bronze Valkyries that had taken the field against Kirito.

The General's golems were fast, much faster than any of the stone, iron, or wooden golems that Asuna had seen demonstrated, and they reacted with something that was almost like real intelligence, a testament to the ability of their puppeteer. Metal feet shattered stone or threw up showers of sparks as tons of bronze alloy sprinted and skidded from side to side, exploiting their fast movements to trade places with one another as they tried to surround their Spriggan challenger.

So far, Kirito was more than holding his own.

"Looks like they've got plenty of mages in place to keep things from getting out of hand." Asuna glanced to Caramella who had come to hover beside her. The Faerie Knight nodded to where officers near the front of the crowd stood ready to intervene if either the General or Kirito were in any real danger.

Even though duels of this type were sanctioned with appropriate precautions, Asuna felt her irritation growing. Doing something like this without telling her!

"Kirito-kun . . . Men are just . . . ugghhh!"

Caramella snorted. "If you ever wonder why I don't like guys? It's because of stuff like this."

The duel had hit a fast and furious tempo with the six Valkyries maneuvering together in an effort to corral Kirito towards the center of the battlefield where he could be surrounded and their numbers brought fully into play. As it was now, Kirito was keeping up a swift retreat so that he only had to engage one golem at a time, swords in hand to parry and counter.

The heavy grade Fae alloys of Onyx Arbiter and Ivory Maven had already taken bites out of the wrists and forearms of at least three of General Gramont's golems. A forth had lost the tip of its spear, and a fifth was fighting on in spite of a partly destroyed head.

Kirito, features hidden behind a faceless obsidian helm, it was impossible to tell how he was feeling, but he moved with the characteristic swiftness of complete focus. For Asuna, that fact was almost reassuring, it meant that he certainly would not lose.

Nearby in the crowds, Asuna's hearing picked out a few snatches of conversation.

"He's the one they call the Black Swordsman right?"

"Impressive for a boy playing at being a man."

"Didn't you hear? He's the one who killed Sir Wardes!"

"That may be, but he still stands no chance in a duel of honor. The General even took a handicap and uses only his golems!"

"Asuna?" Caramella gave her a worried look as the Maeve trembled. "Hey, Asu -"

"Win this one Kirito-kun!" Asuna declared at the top of her lungs. "Don't let that washed up old womanizer beat you!" She could worry about a suitable punishment afterwards, but first Kirito had to win!

General Gramont was proving his reputation as a first class mage however, his Valkyries had surrounded Kirito and were now relentlessly driving the Spriggan to just where they wanted him.

"If the General agreed to use just his golems, Kirito must have given up his wings," Caramella reasoned. Naturally, Kirito was the sort of person who would want to challenge an ally to a fair fight.

"He should still be more mobile than that," Asuna frowned.

His new armor wasn't _that_ much heavier than her own, and Kirito edged her out in physical strength by a healthy margin thanks to the demands of his preferred one handed style. He shouldn't have had any difficulty breaking through or simply jumping over the Valkyries. Doing so without wings would be risky as the golems could very easily take advantage while he couldn't evade, but it would be better than letting himself be surrounded.

Kirito was smarter than that. General Gramont seemed to think so too as he arrayed his golems in two concentric groups of three, the inner group advancing to attack Kirito directly while the outer group held back to catch him if he tried to break through.

The Spriggan broke off from the leading golem, returning Ivory Mavin to its sheath and dropping into his preferred guard stance, free hand outstretched. Runes started to trace the air, the fine lines too far away to be read clearly before they interlocked and vanished.

So Kirito was going to use magic for this duel, Asuna thought. It really was a different sort of fight.

If Asuna hadn't been able to see it, then it was almost a certainty that General Gramont hadn't either. The golems hesitated and Kirito had his opening. Exploding forward like a shooting star, instead of aiming for the gaps, Kirito charged straight for the first golem, right into a readying swing that he would either have to dodge or block.

Kirito did neither, splaying his free hand wide and aiming for the golem's feet. Spots of blackness sprouted forth from the earth, reaching up to encircle and shackle the magic construct in place. Helpless in its prison of shadow binds, Kirito was free to relieve the struggling golem of its weapon wielding right arm with a heavy strike to an already weakened elbow.

Off balance, the animated bronze statue toppled over as the shadow type spell dissipated into thin air, Kirito already turning to advance on the next as he chanted a second spell and closed in on another of the previously damaged golems, evading its swing to land heavily on wide shoulders.

Keeping his balance while the golem tried to shake him free, Kirito tapped his free hand to the edge of his blade, a cloud of rune circles bursting to life down its length and then fading away as the air began to ripple and the sword's tip began to glow, first sullen red, then rising to orange, yellow, and at last white.

"That's not a shadow type spell," Asuna observed, trading a look with Caramella.

"Looks like either a Leprechaun enchantment or fire magic, maybe," the older swordswoman offered, shrugging helplessly. They both knew about weapon enhancement spells but neither had added them to their arsenal just yet. Kirito had done some extra homework it seemed.

Whatever type of spell it was, it was effective. Plunging Onxy Arbiter through the golem's head, the bronze construct seized up, shuddering as its neck and upper chest began to heat and then give way. Two more golems were coming to the rescue as the fifth and six held back and waited for an opening.

That was when Kirito was presented with a problem. The golem he was riding was barely functional, but it still retained enough magic to grab hold of his sword and pin the blade in place. There was no time to fight for the weapon, Kirito jumped clear, converting the energy of his fall into a roll as he drew Ivory Maven as a replacement.

The third golem had a damaged ankle. Maybe Kirito had hit it earlier, or maybe all of the running and hard stops were too much for the bronze to take. It was exactly the sort of weakness that Kirito had exploited against the first golem. Sword flashing out to strike and carry through, expanding the damage just enough so that on the next footfall, the ankle sheared under the load and sent the whole mass of metal smashing into the remains of the second golem in a shower of broken parts.

The voices in the crowds were starting to have a change of heart. Words like; 'He's not half bad', and 'The General should have gotten serious sooner!' were starting to crop up.

If General Gramont was getting flustered by his performance, the only sign was a thoughtful frown as he gathered up his remaining trio of constructs to face off one last time against Kirito. His tactics obviously hadn't worked as well as he'd hoped, so now he was resorting to brute force and numbers to see what would happen.

Kirito drew back to prepare, a third spell rippling the air around him before fading away. The Spriggan crouched low, holding perfectly still, just waiting for the charge.

When it came, all three golems started to move at once, less running and more bursting from side to side in a perfect display of coordinated movement, sparks flying as they dug rents into the ground, changing their direction of travel in the blink of an eye.

"That's a tri-star attack. He's got the General fired up now."

"Hope the referees are on their game."

"They'll pull him before it hits."

Whatever the _it_ mentioned in their foreboding commentary, Asuna found herself holding her breath. The golems weren't slowing down, just getting faster and faster, never resting in the same place for more than the blink of an eye until suddenly, three screaming crashes sounded out as all three golems erupted into a charge, one after another.

The first spear was less than a meter from striking home when Kirito and the air all around him shattered into a million diamond shards. A reflexive gasp stole its way from Asuna's lips, the effect of the mirror spell shattering was entirely too much like an avatar death for her liking, but it had served its purpose, a black blur skidding between the legs of the lead golem, the swordsman hurriedly threw a second bind into the legs of the following Valkyrie.

Kirito must not have had time to chant the spell's full power effect, or maybe he'd meant to do it that way as the shadow bind grabbed the still charging golem by its right leg and proceeded to thoroughly trip up the animated armor before snapping under the strain. The second Golem collided with the first, both vanishing in a cloud of sparks and dust as the third came to a skidding halt and instead of thrusting with its spear, swung the weapon about and batted at Kirito as if with a polearm.

The unexpected move forced Kirito to duck low and opened a gap for the last Valkyrie, with surprising deftness of form, to swing its spear blade back around in a thrust.

There wasn't time for Kirito to dodge or to deflect with his sword, it looked like the fight was going to go to General Gramont for sure and the General's supporters had begun to prematurely cheer, when the Valkyrie's spear froze in place, the length of the shaft trembling with faint vibrations. The dust cleared to reveal the black armored Spriggan, boots sliding across the stone surface until they found purchase among the cracks and dents in the stone.

Kirito had dropped Ivory Maven to free his hands which were now wrapped firmly around the tip of the golem's spear. The trembling was from Kirito who had to be exerting all of his strength to resist over a ton of bronze trying with all its might to smash him into the ground. With the difference in size between the two and a half meter tall golem and Kirito's slight frame, it was like watching an ant fighting a rhinoceros beetle.

A creaking groan rose from the wreckage of the golems behind Kirito, one of the two magic armors was still functioning enough to push the other broken construct off itself and climb to its feet with the remains of its spear. Kirito was pinned in place resisting the third golem and couldn't raise a hand to defend himself.

That was probably why General Gramont was showing off by advancing the damaged golem at a casual saunter to present itself, looming over Kirito. Raising its broken spear it delivered a restrained strike to the shoulder which narrowly missed as Kirito twisted, shifting his grip on the spear he'd been holding at bay and redirecting it into the chest of the damaged golem.

Off balance and arms over extended, the last of the golems struggled to pull its spear free from its destroyed comrade as Kirito retrieved Ivory Maven, the blade beginning to glow white hot with the heat spell he'd used previously, an effect that bore a striking resemblance to a Sword Skill as he cleaved through the Golem's arms at the elbows.

The damage finally caught up to the Valkyrie, its animating magic shattering at it collapsed, bronze cracking and breaking apart as it tumbled down.

The silence that followed was broken only by a single pair of clapping hands, General Gramont advancing from the edge of the field to extend his congratulations. Despite the disappointed muttering from the General's subordinates, most followed their superior's example and joined in the applause, along with more earnest and heartfelt cheers from the supporters of both sides.

It had been a good duel was what everyone seemed to think. Asuna too as she sank back to the ground and then to her knees with a low sigh. Klein and Caramella were close at hand, both giving her worried looks and asking if she was okay.

"Klein-san," Asuna said, "I have to ask. How much was Kirito's take?"

The Salamander took a look at his paper full of scribbled calculations. "It should be this one here, half goes to General Gramont but the rest is Kirito's. Uhm, why?"

Asuna examined the number and then nodded, giving a small smile of relief. Kirito had won, so she couldn't really be angry. What she _could_ do was remind him not to be so reckless.

"No reason in particular." Asuna extended her hand palm up, and beckoned. "I just think that should be more than enough to put towards a nice dress for Yui-chan so that she can come to the next gathering. Wouldn't you say?"


	26. Chapter 6 Part 2: Take Your Medicine

Halkegenia Online v3 - Chapter 6 - Part 2

Although Asuna had decided not to remain angry and make the duel into an issue that they would argue over, the whole affair had resolved itself nicely after all, the Maeve couldn't say that she would allow it to go unchallenged either. What Kirito had done might have been perfectly acceptable as a Knight of Tristain, but it was completely unacceptable as a husband.

Kirito had no excuses either as the suit of obsidian armor and coal black wyrm leather became deathly still at the sight of her approach across the broken parade ground. That too was a serious matter that would need to be discussed at a later date, in private, but for now she could still make her feelings felt once they were out of the company of General Gramont.

The crowds had begun to disperse the moment the victor had been declared, humans and Faeries milling about as they retrieved their winnings, or more often, counted their losses.

If there was a disadvantage to the new armor, Asuna thought, it had to be the heat buildup. Part of the purpose of the padded undergarment was to help cool the users so that they wouldn't suffer from heat exhaustion while exerting themselves.

Overall, the system worked well with sweat soaking into the body glove where it could then carry heat away by evaporating into the air, leaving behind cool water in contact with the skin.

There were limitations to this sort of cooling however, and in the blistering summer heat, Kirito had very obviously pushed the simple and effective system to its limit in his duel with the General.

Having removed his faceless black helm, Kirito's ashen Spriggan complexion was flushed, cheeks and ears especially, as sweat beaded on his forehead and ran in tracks down the sides of his face. Yet somehow, he still managed to look much less disheveled than Asuna would have expected.

It took the Maeve a moment to place it before she realized it was his hair. His ridiculously spiky Spriggan hair which had resulted from the corruption of his Spriggan character with his SAO character data. Springy and always quick to recover its lost shape in defiance of everything that Kirito had tried, in the end he had resigned himself to his new hair and simply come to accept it, though not without a lot of grumbling.

Even the heat and moisture from being confined inside Kirito's helmet hadn't managed to tame his hair for long, as the damped down strands began to draw back together and rise up on ends like a time lapse image.

Well, Kirito wasn't the sort of person who bothered very much with combing his hair so Asuna supposed it was actually pretty convenient that it could make itself presentable.

Opposite Kirito, General Gramont hardly looked winded. Magic demanded a heavy mental toll on a mage, but the physical exertion was a good deal less and the Baron was spry for his age. In fact, Asuna's eyes drooped as the General casually brushed aside a lock of blond-gray hair. There was something odd about a man so clearly in his early fifties being that bishounen.

Standing straight at attention, Asuna held her serene mask as the General spoke.

"Quite the fight, lad. The first bit of challenge I've had in years," General Gramont stated. "I should congratulate you on defeating one of the proud techniques passed on down the Gramont line through the generations. And I must say that quick thinking of yours is bound to become legend on the battlefield."

"And I can see now why you're already a legend, General," Kirito grinned as he accepted the older man's hand politely. "I'm just lucky that you were out of practice."

"Alas. With the caliber of duelists these days, is it a wonder I've developed such layers of rust?!" Belgen lamented theatrically. "Still a marvelous showing, well worth the trouble. Profitable too no doubt." He tossed a look over his shoulder. Already, with the dust settling, the camp's mages were closing in to repair the damage that had been done, earth mages pulverizing the damaged sections to sand and then building them back up while the dust and dirt was blown and washed away. "Though I do fear I may be receiving a stern lecture from my staff."

"We did go a little overboard," Kirito apologized.

"Perish the thought, lad!" Belgen insisted, giving Asuna a small nod. "Dame Asuna, your company is a pleasure as always. I suppose you'll be along to collect your young man?"

"Of course, General." Asuna's smile was all saccharin and wasp honey as she took Kirito's arm and discovered, somewhat awkwardly, that clinging was not nearly as effective while wearing plate over silk. "I hope you don't need to keep him any longer."

"Not at all, not at all." The General gave a charming bow. "It was invigorating, but I should be getting to fixing this mess." Belgen waved to their surroundings where dozens of his subordinates had set about undoing the damage from the fight. "I relinquish your husband to you, Dame Asuna."

"Un. Thank you, General." Asuna had kept up her smile until the General had departed, and held it a little longer still as she met Kirito's own nervous grin.

"Uhm . . . You don't really feel that way, do you?"

"Not at all," Asuna promised cheerfully as she took him by the arm and pulled, leading the way back towards the barracks with a reluctantly compliant Kirito, a nervous Klein, and an amused Caramella trailing behind her.

As Knights of Tristain, the Yggdrasil Knights were offered a number of concessions that were considered outright luxurious among conscripted soldiers and officer cadets. One of those concessions was in the form of their accommodations which were located in a pair of brick buildings at the far south western corner of the barracks quarter. Each Knight barracks contained sixteen small rooms lined eight to a side down a central hallway, furnished either for one or two occupants.

As Vice Commander, Asuna had her own room entirely to herself in the women's barracks, as did Kirito as a blooded 'ace' among the men. It wasn't exactly the arrangement that she would have preferred, but the barracks buildings were segregated based on gender, another concession to the wide presence of women among the Faerie forces which was viewed as quite unusual by many of the army's senior staff.

Given that Henrietta had been able to take the throne as sovereign of her own Kingdom and the way that powerful women such as the Duchess of Valliere and the exiled Countess Emily Windsor were treated in court, Asuna had thought that magic had been a great equalizer among the genders. She'd been mostly right.

It seemed that while Tristain had many Knightly Orders open to women, most notably their Dragon Knights, and employed female soldiers in specialized roles such as Queen Henrietta's musketeers, the Army had remained firmly dominated by men. More specifically noblemen, second and third sons who were expected to join the army as part of the tradition of their families.

It had been a second concession to practicality to have the two barracks placed side by side, separated by a shared courtyard which also contained a small well to supply drinking water.

That fact was appreciated by Kirito now more than ever as the Faerie swordsman sank down in the shade of the troop barracks and leaned his head against the cool stone of the foundation.

"Man, that was too hot." Kirito fanned at his face, closing his eyes as he leaned back. "I guess I might have overdone it a little in this heat. Hot and thirsty."

"Just a little," Asuna agreed as she ladled cold water from a bucket beside the well and brought it over to Kirito.

"Ah, thanks." Kirito started to reach for the offered ladle before Asuna very calmly poured the contents over his head, eliciting a small yelp and grimace as his hair flattened and promptly began to spike up again. "Right, you're angry," Kirito sighed.

"Not angry." Asuna shook her head. "Disappointed, Kirito-kun. What were you thinking fighting a duel with General Gramont like that?"

"It was the General's idea to begin with," the Spriggan answered, pausing to give Asuna time to digest this fact.

"What?"

"Un." Kirito nodded. "I finished fitting this morning so I wanted to get a feel for moving around in this gear." He gave an exaggerated roll of his shoulders for emphasis. "I was just going to go through some sword forms and aerial maneuvers I've been practicing with Sugu, but I ran into the General instead and he offered to help really put this armor through its paces. I don't have to hold back against golems, so it was perfect."

"It was reckless!" Asuna declared. There had been healers standing ready, and Faeries were resilient, but an accident still could have ended horribly. "There's no reason to take such risks!"

"It's even riskier if I don't know exactly what I'm capable of," Kirito said. "It's better to test myself now, the realer, the better. It's no big deal."

"It absolutely is a 'big deal'," Asuna replied swiftly. Why couldn't he just see? "This is a problem. We're supposed to have each other's back. You can't just go off and do something like that without telling me!" It was one thing if Kirito put himself in danger, it was another thing altogether if he was manufacturing that danger. "This is exactly the sort of thing that happened with Argo!"

Kirito's lips parted, then came back together again without uttering a word. He looked aside, shamefaced. "Yeah. I shouldn't have gone ahead without telling you."

"Right." Asuna agreed, her voice softening now that she'd made her case. "I just can't believe you some days. It would be really embarrassing to his wife if the Black Swordsman who conquered Aincrad and defeated Viscount Wardes got himself injured fighting a cheap statue."

The Maeve peeked from the corner of her eye to see Kirito's frown fading as he decided it was okay to smile again. "It was pretty dumb, sorry."

"Making up sure is easy for you married types." An unwelcome intrusion spoiled the moment, Klein grinning as he stroked at the stubble he called a beard. "I'm pretty jealous."

"And you Klein!" Asuna could forgive Kirito but the Salamander was another matter.

"Erm . . ."

"You were _with_ Kirito-kun, you're supposed to stop these sorts of stunts!" She crossed her arms. Klein had been a bad friend!

"Hey, don't look at me," the Salamander insisted. "Kirito's the one who roped me in to man the betting pool!"

"Yeah, ease off just a little Asuna." Caramella grinned. "Someone was bound to take wagers the second those two walked onto the field. I just wish I could have put down bets before it started."

Asuna gave the Salamander and Nymph a dangerous look and then turned away. "As I said, I'm not going to hold it against Kirito-kun this time, so I won't be angry at Klein either. But if it happens again Klein, don't expect to be getting invited for dinner anymore."

"Hey you wouldn't dare!" The samurai protested, falling silent as Asuna made it clear just how serious she was.

"Now then, even after everything," Asuna turned back to the water bucket and its contents and returned to Kirito, kneeling down to hold the edge of the ladle to his lips, "I am really happy that you won."

Kirito looked up at her, mystified, but happy nonetheless to accept. She let him drink slowly, returning with a second ladle-full which Kirito took and proceeded to pour down his own neck, shivering as the icy water wormed its way in.

"Hey, Klein, can you help me with this?" The Spriggan hooked a thumb to the straps that held together the chest and back plates. "They said I should be able to take it off by myself, but this thing is a real pain."

"Sure thing," Klein said, going to work on the hard to reach straps and lacing. "Hey, it looks like it held up alright." The Salamander sounded impressed. "You were really putting on the moves out there."

"It's a lot easier to move in than I expected," Kirito agreed. "I didn't expect it to be this comfortable. But the shoulder is still a little restricted." He worked his right arm again. "I'm going to mention that when I take it back to the armory."

"Gotta say, fighting the General's golems was a pretty cool idea." Caramella shook her head. "Who'd have thought that dork's dad was such a badass? Pretty hot for an old guy too." The last sentence catching looks from Asuna, Klein, and Kirito. "What? He's good looking. It's not like I can't tell."

"Makes sense, how else are you gonna scope out the competition," Klein jabbed.

"Bite me you scruffy lizard." The Nymph turned back to Kirito as he loosened and removed his gloves and arm guards. "But seriously, what was that lightsaber move you used? It almost looked like a sword skill."

Asuna wanted an answer to that too. Kirito had been focusing on his Shadow magic during practice, and weapon enhancement wasn't usually part of that discipline. Just where had Kirito learned something like that?

"It's not anything special," Kirito explained. "It's an enchantment type spell, Flame Haze. Liz is the one who taught it to me."

"Flame Haze?" Asuna asked. "So it's an Enchantment-Fire spell? I thought you were going to train in shadow magic first."

"That's how all of the Leprechaun elemental enchantments work. You have to know both enchantments and an elemental magic," Kirito answered, working his shoulders out of his outer armor and pulling the inner glove down to tie around his waist. "And since we don't have our Sword Skills anymore I wanted something to deal more damage with my swords."

In other words, it was Kirito's attempt at replicating the high impact damage effect of a Sword Skill in some limited fashion. For anyone else it might have been impossible, but Kirito was the sort of person who had trained until his sword skills had been perfectly memorized, even replicating the signature combos of his lost Dual Blades without any sort of system assist.

"Okay, you are so teaching us that." Caramella stopped and stared. "Also . . . What the hell?!"

"Huh?" Kirito, who had just poured another ladle full of water over his head and was in the middle of shaking the excess from his hair, looked up, confused. "Is something wrong?"

"Not really wrong, just, was the bod default in ALO set to sculpted?" the Nymph narrowed her eyes and pointed a finger accusingly. "When did you get _ripped?_"

"Hmm?" It took Asuna a moment for to recognize what the older woman was talking about. When she did, she was only surprised by how little she was surprised. She'd had plenty of time to get used to it after all.

The Kirito of SAO had been modeled on Kirito's real human body, a body which had only been fourteen years old when he had been trapped in the Death Game, and not exceptionally fit. In that form, Kirito had possessed a decidedly slim build, and since avatar stats didn't affect appearance at all, his body had remained exactly the same from the launch date to the clearing date. That was simply the reality of virtual avatars.

The actualization of ALfheim was another matter entirely. Stats that had represented abstractions of physical potential like strength and agility had taken on physical meaning in this world and become expressed in the embodiment of their avatars.

For Kirito, who had been approaching his maximum level and stats in SAO and who had proceeded to transfer those stats unintentionally into ALO, the results had been noticeable.

The Kirito that stood before Asuna now still bore a more than passing resemblance to his real self, she suspected as a result of his SAO stats corrupting his avatar's appearance data. He was still very much on the slim side, a little taller, with slightly sharper features from his Spriggan 'heritage', and now very clearly possessed of the sort of lean and very well-defined physique that could only have been the product of years of hard training.

Dripping wet, water running down taut flanks and beading across a very well developed chest which rose and fell with the easy rhythm of his breathing. Small, powerful biceps and forearms, rounded shoulders, flat, firm stomach and obliques. It was like Kirito had spent his entire life training hard as a swordsman, and well, Asuna couldn't exactly say that she minded much at all.

"I know," Asuna agreed with Caramella's appraisal. "It's nice isn't it?" Especially his back.

"I'll say." The Nymph turned on an evil grin, jabbing an elbow at Asuna. "Looks like you've got yourself some eye candy, Asuna."

"Oy oy," Kirito said under his breath, "I'm right here," the swordsman's ash skin beginning to warm under the attention.

"Anyways." Asuna turned away, clasping her hands behind her back. "I suppose it isn't really that important so long as Kirito-kun is healthy." Yes, _very_ healthy.

"Stats were all made real, so STR stats had to be made real too. Just how are you surprised at this anyway?" Klein mentioned.

Which was true, Asuna had noticed a similar change in her own figure since becoming a Maeve, though thanks to her AGI focus it had been far less profound and had been most noticeable only after escaping Albion and before she had returned to a healthy weight.

Klein turned a scrutinizing eye to Caramella. "I mean . . . you have girl abs!"

The Nymph met the Salamander's challenge with a flat look. "What _about_ my rockin' girl abs?" Caramella asked humorlessly.

"Didn't you ever wonder about it?" Klein insisted. "You're an SAO survivor so I'd thought you'd have noticed right away if your body had changed."

"Are you implying I didn't have girl abs IRL?" The Nymph faced off across from Klein with a thin smile.

"Well . . ." the Salamander tripped up, rubbing at his chin, "the whole time in Aincrad I just thought you were a little chubby and . . . humph . . . " Klein was silenced by a swift punch to the stomach.

"How about my chubby fist meets up with your fat face?"

"Klein!" Kirito took a half step forward before being waved off by his friend.

"Yeah, that definitely hurt. Those are definitely muscles." Klein blew out a breath as he found support against the barracks wall.

"Then don't say things you're going to regret." Caramella leaned over him. "That careless mouth is why no woman will touch you, you know." Then leaning back, the Nymph set her hands on her hips. "I've always been in awesome shape, by the way. Well, I was in awesome shape." The swordswoman's confident expression faded. "Two years laying in a hospital bed probably changed that a little."

All four Faeries fell silent as they meditated on the lingering reminder of SAO and the thought that even while they fought for their lives, their real bodies had been slowly rotting away, barely clinging to life in hospital beds.

Asuna had asked Kirito once, in private, about what it had been like back in Japan, and particularly how his own recovery had progressed. While medical techniques and pharmaceuticals had helped greatly to maintain their health while locked within their Nerve Gears, and allowed the SAO survivors to recover enough to walk and care for themselves in only a matter of months, their recovery had been ongoing and fraught with difficulty.

At least in that regard, Asuna could say that she had been somewhat fortunate in becoming a Maeve.

Of course, thinking too long about that other world inevitably led to thinking about what might have happened to their original bodies, which was a topic that was either hotly debated or avoided altogether by the denizens of ALfheim.

"So that's what a high 'STR' nets you," Caramella mused. "Man, if that's the case Kino's going to be getting popular with the girls in a couple of years."

"If you're done ogling me in public, I think I'm going to go return this to the armory," Kirito sighed. By now, the Spriggan had managed to re-dress in the top half of his armor's padded under layer and had shaken the last beading droplets from his hair. "I should do it now before everyone starts getting back. Hegent-san probably wants a full report."

"She'll probably be mad she didn't get to watch the fight," Klein added.

Kirito nodded. "That's why I want to return the armor and get out before she hears about it."

Just as her mood was improving again, Asuna felt herself growing annoyed. "Kirito-kun, what about group maneuvers?"

"The whole point is to familiarize ourselves with moving in the armor right?" he said in a completely reasonable voice. "If I've already done that I can get in some more magic practice. I almost fumbled the binding spell against General Gramont. It's completely different trying to use them in the middle of a battle. And there's a trick I want to try by stacking mirroring spells . . ."

Asuna thought about putting her foot down, but her conviction waned as Kirito's mutters fell off, face set in a steady look of concentration. When he got like that, it was only because he was thinking about something important. In the end, she could trust him not to slack off where it mattered. For all of Kirito's flaws, that made up for most of them.

She could only really ask one thing. "No more dangerous stuff without talking first. Okay?"

Kirito returned from his thoughts long enough to give a small nod. "I promise."

"Good, then it's decided." Asuna sighed. Sometimes he could be such a pain to deal with.

"There you are Kirito-san!"

And just when Asuna thought that everything was settled she was proven wrong once again. "Oh, Kiriyu-sensei," the Maeve greeted the approaching slip of an Undine.

Heads turned to follow the blue-platinum haired Faerie, both human and Fae. That was in part because of her Faerie good looks, even by the elevated standards of the Fae, but mostly because of the way that the Undine had chosen to adapt to the hot day by donning a pair of cut-off shorts and a tank top that alternated between covering and baring her midriff as she skipped along.

Asuna was a little surprised that the outfit, fairly normal summer attire, wasn't declared indecent by the Tristanians, but Kiriyu was a civilian, a member of the TRIST health subcommittee and a medical professional IRL, who had been assigned to Champ de Mars at the same time as the Knight training cadres, and was not subject to the same strict disciplinary and dress codes as the soldiers.

"Ah, Asuna-san." Kiriyu waved without ever taking her eyes off of Kirito.

"Is something the matter Kirito-kun?" Asuna asked her husband who was presently paling and edging away.

"Well, erm . . ."

"I've been looking all over for you Kirito-san," the small Undine said. "You ran out yesterday before we finished with the exam."

"The exam?" Asuna's eyes drooped.

"Un." Kiriyu nodded vigorously. "I tried to tell you we weren't done after the strength test, Kirito-san. I still needed to take samples."

"Uhm . . . yeah." Kirito looked away sheepishly.

As part of their service, every Faerie of the Defense Forces was required to undergo a medical examination. This was both to judge fitness and to collect information on their Faerie bodies that could be essential to better understanding their biology. Knights were no exception to that rule and Asuna had made sure that every one of the Yggdrasil Knights had participated, leading by example.

Half of the exam was just a simple physical, not too different from what might be administered at a public school, but other parts had been uncomfortable or even painful, such as taking the blood and tissue samples that the medical professionals could test and examine with their new instruments. Asuna had put on a brave face while the doctors had worked, water mages immediately healing the tiny incisions so that they would leave no scars or lingering pain.

Asuna had done so knowing that it was an important and necessary step for the benefit of public health and that Kirito was making the sacrifice along with her. Turning her eyes back to a nervous Kirito.

"I can't just say sorry, huh?"

Asuna sighed, today she felt like all she'd done was sigh. "It's alright Kirito-kun," she said calmly, laying a hand firmly on his back and pushing him towards the waiting arms of Kiriyu. "You have more than enough time now to make up for it." Watching her husband's expression plummet, Asuna smiled. "Don't worry Kiriyu-san, Kirito-kun finished his armor trials early, he has all this afternoon open."

"Really, it's okay?" Kiriyu laid arms around Kirito and began to pull. "That's a relief, I was worried I wouldn't be able to fit him in!"

"Asu-Asuna?!"

"Kirito-kun." Asuna tilted he head to the side as she smiled. "That thing I told Klein? It'll go double for you if Kiriyu-san doesn't get everything she needs."

The fight went out of Kirito then, profound resignation taking its place. Though it moved Asuna's heart by the smallest fraction, she crushed it quickly. Kirito, her wonderful Kirito, sometimes he had to take his medicine.

"Come along Kirito-san, Kiriyu said. "This is going to take a while, and we'll need to get you out that armor, but hey, who needs their friends when they have me and my _scary_ needles?"

"Asuna!"


	27. Chapter 6 Part 3: Invade the Compound

Authors Note: I'm somewhat surprised by the lack of commentary about the previous chapter. In particular the mention of Kirito's appearance and by extension, Caramella and Asuna's girl abs. It just made sense to me that it would be that way however. Despite their magical nature I've always wanted the Faeries to have the feel of a designer super human race, a species that if you turned the magic off would still be insanely fast, strong, and resilient by the standards of us humans.

So yeah, there's one more section in this chapter and then back to Albion. On that note, I'm always amazed by the way this has diverged from being JUST an SAO and ZnT crossover and become as much about world building and dozens of OCs that inhabit it. I'm both humbled and happy that people have allowed me to do my own thing with this while also trying to keep the characters that started it all near to the story. Thank you all for your support and patience.

* * *

><p>Halkegenia Online v3 – Chapter 6 – Part 3<p>

Darkness, darkness, darkness all around, it was too dark, Waisu thought as she stepped back slowly, carefully brandishing her sword toward the inky blackness at her front, even in neglect of her back. She hadn't known what it would be like when she'd volunteered for the 'Defense Force' that the Faerie Lords were making, but she did now, and even though she was stronger and faster now than she had ever been before in her life, she was still a little scared.

"Waisu." The darkness at her back seemed to whisper, sending a shiver through her frame. "Waisu!" A second, louder hiss. It was a near thing that she didn't scream in fright when she was grabbed by the shoulder and spun around to face the ghastly visage of metallic monster descending to eat her.

"W-waagh!" Her cry was cut short as a hand smothered her lips, a short, sharp, '-shhhh!-' filling the air beside her left ear.

Heart squeaking inside of her chest, it was only as her burst of fear faded that she recognized the fierce visage for what it was, the helmet of their leader, all dusky gray steel shaped into an insect-like, horned mask.

"A-Aya . . ." Waisu stammered and then shook with relief, almost tearing up after her scare.

"Pay attention Waisu. You weren't keeping up." Aya warned sternly. "We're most vulnerable at the front and rear. Bringing up the rear is as important as leading at the front."

Right, Aya thought. That was the way it had been explained to them. When they traveled in a linear column like this, in a confined space, it was important for the leader and rear guard to keep everyone well-informed in case of danger. And there _was_ danger where they were going, lots of it.

"Is everything alright back there?" A distant, deeper voice called.

"It's fine, Ki-kun." Aya called back. "We're getting back in formation now." Nodding gruffly, Aya waved to another shadow which turned out to not be a shadow at all as it transformed into a pale ghost dressed in mottled jacket over steel breastplate. Standing alone in a pool of dim light cast by the lantern hung from her walking stick, the third girl nodded slowly.

"Erika, stick close with Waisu. Make sure she doesn't fall behind again. Okay, let's move."

Aya spun around and stepped back into the darkness as surely as she had appeared and for a heartbeat, Waisu was reluctant to follow, but then Erika set out ahead of her with a whispered "Come on", and a wave of her barely visible lantern.

It was almost embarrassing how much more confident Erika seemed, Waisu thought, maybe the other girl was better cut out for this sort of stuff, maybe it had been a bit of a mistake to leave her safe, comfortable life and come here. But it had been Erika who had followed _her_ and not the other way around, so she didn't really know. Things weren't so simple anymore. _Nothing_ was simple anymore, Waisu fell in at the rear of their group of six, patting down the back of her skirt as she went and probed the dark with the tip of her sword. Nothing was simple, like their mission.

They were supposed to observe an enemy compound and map the general layout of its interior without alerting the garrison. Get in and get out, and don't be seen by anyone in the process. It was really stupidly simple saying it like that. It was almost insulting in fact.

But things got complicated fast. First, the place they needed to sneak into was well-guarded. There were soldiers, and mages, lots of them. But more importantly were the animals. Some of those mages had animal familiars that made natural sentries. Waisu shivered as she recalled one of the Royal Guard lieutenants and his canine familiar, a Germanian Lowehund that was almost big enough for him to ride.

Animals like that would have an excellent sense of smell and good ears to complicate sneaking. That meant they had to think hard about how they were going to get inside of the compound without crossing paths with those dangerous animals.

So while Erika and Waisu had been instructed to scout out the location from a distance and report back what they saw, Aya and the other veterans had stayed up late into the nights to devise a plan.

They'd found their entrance in the form of a drainage ditch that serviced the courtyard of the walled compound, some sort of dilapidated old fort that had been recycled by the current force of soldiers as a field headquarters, at least that was what they'd been told, it all looked like a messy pile of rocks to Waisu. Not cute at all!

It was possible that they were storing important supplies and battle plans inside as well, and if they ran across any of those, they were supposed to try and sabotage them, but not at the expense of their main mission.

Sneaking in under cover of night, they'd taken the drainage ditch up to where it passed through the ruins of the old fort wall and then crawled a ways to a secondary drain that traveled under the building they were interested in, an old, weathered wood and tone structure that was probably the compound's headquarters and barracks.

Which was how they had found themselves in the maze of tunnels below, old basements, or maybe even catacombs. Tristain had lots of those where the ground raised high enough to stay above the water table. Anyways, it was spooky.

The sounds up ahead had Waisu worried at first, but her anxiety faded as she made out the hushed voices of the others, illuminated by a second lantern carried on Ki-kun's back. By that light, Waisu was able to see what the holdup was. Up until now, they'd been following this tunnel by the airflow, reasoning that it would eventually let out someplace where they could get a good look around. The tunnel did go on, but it didn't look like they were going to have an easy time following it.

"Looks like it caved in." Ki-kun shook her head, face invisible behind a fearsome, wasp-like mask. The veteran sighed wearily. "Probably erosion from the overflow drainage."

"Can we go around?" Aya asked, kicking the partially collapsed debris with the toe of her boot and retrieving a hollow -knock- back. "Wood." She muttered. "And rotted."

"What do you think, Bo-chan?" Ki-kun turned to the so far silent member of their party.

Waisu turned too, along with everyone else. When Bo-chan had something to say, she'd learned she should listen. The other girl was a veteran who'd already been in battle, a real hero who had risked her life to protect others. She looked it too, big, and broad shouldered, edging out Waisu herself to be the biggest and tallest of the six of them. Her armor just made her look even bigger and more imposing, like she could stop a charging Cape Beetle in its tracks.

Kneeling down to examine the gap, Bo-chan nodded. "It gets lighter ahead . . . I can smell lamp oil too. Waisu." she called over her shoulder. "You and me are strongest, help me with this."

"U-un." Of course, crouching down beside the other girl and shouldering a broken piece of dry rotted beam.

"On three." Bo-chan instructed, eyes shining brightly in the pale lamp light. "Two . . . Three!"

Both pushed up at the same time, legs straining as the beam creaked and squeaked. Waisu just prayed the sound wouldn't be heard by cautious ears. They'd have no chance of winning if they were caught.

Dust fell in fine cascades as the beam shifted and then raised enough to let the others through one at a time, Aya, and then Erika slipping past. Then it was her turn, Bo-chan nodding. Waisu let go, pausing only a moment to be impressed at the way the other girl hardly trembled at all under the burden she was carrying all by herself.

Ducking through the gap, she was followed by Bo-chan who slipped though as she lowered the beam back into place. As soon as they were with the others, Waisu was struck by the relative freshness of the air, and the smells of a living place. The veteran girl had been right. This had to be the way to go.

The tunnel they'd been following narrowed into a crevice for its last stretch before opening again into a cavernous space lit only by weak lantern light, the ceiling lost in shadows above and the floor shrouded in darkness below. They had to be directly beneath the compound now, maybe even one of the outbuildings.

"Okay then, coast looks clear." Aya surmised. "Erika?"

Erika closed her eyes, leaning forward as she scented delicately at the air. She had the best sense of smell among all of them by far, and it always best that they use it to be safe.

"Mmmm . . . human . . . but it's old. I think we're okay." Erika whispered.

"Still, better not risk it." Ki-kun instructed. "Shutter the lanterns and no wings, we hit the floor quietly."

There were whispers and nods of affirmative as the last of their group and another of the veterans removed a spool of line from her pack and began unwind it, using up over half of the cord before tying off the remainder and giving a sharp tug to be sure it was secure.

Then, without even a whisper, she was over the edge and out of sight. The rest followed shortly, first Ki-kun, then Aya, Bo-chan, and Erika, leaving Waisu at the back once more. She made the drop with her eyes closed, it wasn't a dangerous fall at all, but the noise of her metal armor if she struck the ground too hard might have alerted someone. It made her so nervous she almost had to will her palms not to sweat until she was safely on the hard stone floor.

"Back in column." Ki-kun instructed as she took the lead. The cavern was full of cover, debris and titanic support columns, crates that dwarfed the team of infiltrators and offered plenty of places to hide. But all it would take was one wrong move to be exposed, and at just the wrong time to be seen.

This way, the leader could scout things out, and the others could follow in her footsteps.

They proceeded in this way, one after another, following their leader from hiding spot to the hiding spot to cross the vast cavern floor, nearing a gap in the ceiling where weak sunlight filtered in from above. That was probably their way up.

"First, we'll find someplace secure to set up an observation post, then we'll bed down for the day." Aya explained. They wouldn't dare to move about under the nose of the enemy until night fell once again.

"I have a bad feeling about this." Erika whispered. The proclamation putt Waisu on edge, Erika's hunches had always been good for as long as she could remember. Maybe this one time it really was nothing, she tried to tell herself, but the skin of her back refused to stop crawling, looking all about for any sign they had been spotted.

"Girl," Aya started, "You always have a bad feeling about something, why don't you . . ."

-click- So sharp and quiet that it was swallowed as swiftly as it appeared.

The elder girl fell deathly silent. It was Ki-kun who waved for them to scatter for shelter.

-click-click-

Like metal nails tapping on stone, the noise was ever so slightly too sharp to be natural. Waisu shivered as she hid herself in a gap between storage crates, counting between each instance of the noise as it crept closer and closer.

-click-click-CLICK!- And then silence, deafening and complete. Nothing happened, nothing at all, and as nothing continued to happen, Waisu hesitantly opened her eyes.

Was it clear?

Had that been it? She wondered, scanning the floor for any sign. Aya, who had dove out flat to hide, throwing her mottled cloak wide as camouflage, was the first to look up, confused by the sudden silence. Stirring under her cloak and reaching out slowly with her right arm, Aya was just about to draw her sword when . . .

-CRASH-

Waisu was brave enough to admit that she screamed then, and that she might have lost control of her bladder as Aya vanished, her place taken by a bestial monstrosity that was all patches of fur, barred fangs, gangling limbs and insect joints.

"Ayase!"

Unfolding from its pounce, limbs squeaking sharp and hideous as it pinned a stunned Aya beneath its left forepaw, the monstrosities skeletal jaw opened wide to issue a strangled cry that grated at Waisu's ears. It was going to alert the guards! There was only one thing to do, she heard Bo-chan over the scream, the only one of them who could be heard over that awful noise.

"Kill it! Kill it quick!"

It was like a magic word that snapped them all from their shock. They couldn't let it raise the alarm. Ki-kun was the first on her feet, followed by Erika, drawing a polished, razor edged blade and charging into the fray.

Aya had recovered enough to try and flee. Screaming curses as she was batted about like a toy ball and then smashed back into the ground by a paw, only managing to hack a few ineffectual shavings from the monstrous thing's hide.

"Waisu!" Ai-chan snapped, fluttering her wings to land beside her. The smaller girl drew a length of line from the spool she carried on her hip, tossing one end to Waisu along with a grappling hook. "Just like we practiced, let's take its legs out from under it!"

"R-right!"

Working fast to secure the grapple, the others fighting for their lives right there in front of her made Waisu's hands set to shaking and her voice to praying. But what really slowed her down was seeing the pale glow of the veterans as they skirted off the ground on their wings.

_T-they're amazing!_

"Waisu!" Ai-chan snapped.

"Y-yes!" Nearly fumbling her grapple as she replied.

Blue eyes glowed like twin pools of fire within skull like sockets of a bone white face, their light streaking as the monster through its head about, snipping and spitting, the jaws opened wide in another vicious shriek.

There was enough light to make out details, Waisu really wished there wasn't. She'd been told that there was nothing scarier than what she could imagine. Well, she must not have had a very good imagination.

The monster was a shambling mess of tattered cloth and awkward, gangling limbs, and whip-like tail, like something brought back to life by a vengeful spirit. And they were going to fight it. Bo-chan and Ki-kun were already fighting it.

It was the difference between a novice like herself and veterans who were accustomed to diving into danger.

Ki-kun and Bo-chan struck together like a pair of shooting stars, slashing in from either side two skewer the monster's eyes, sending it into a trembling fight as it pawed at its face, whip tail cracking and nearly splitting Erika in two before she could tumble out of the way.

Pirouetting through the air, Bo-chan looked right at Waisu. "Now!"

"Right!" Ai shouted, launching straight into the jaws of death and pulling Waisu behind by their shared cord.

"Nnnnnn!" Waisu couldn't help being terrified, couldn't help how much she wanted to run and hide, she just pushed it all down, wings surging with power as she burst into flight behind the smaller Ai.

The guard beast, clearing its eyes looked back up, fearsome shows widening to let out another strangled shriek. "Change of plans!" Ai said. "We're going to gag it!"

"R-right!" Waisu didn't know what that would do, but she knew to trust Ai's judgment. Together, they changed their trajectory, pulling the cable taut between them and angling for the side of the moth, the line was caught in the jaw, catching and slipping across teeth. The cord was strong, but baring so much weight, it stretched a long ways before starting to pull back.

Despite all of their strength and the power of their wings, Waisu felt herself being yanked back, their forward speed stalling out.

"P-put you're _back into it!_" Ai grunted as the line pulled and trembled in their hands. Waisu couldn't have let go if she wanted to, she'd used the grapple to secure the line to her armor, if she stopped struggling she'd be whipped around in the blink of an eye.

But it was having an effect now. The feline creature was being dragged back by the head, up onto its haunches while long front limbs struggled for purchase so that they could dig into the floor and pulled back. One claw slash, then another.

Aya scrambled away, kicking with her feet to escape as the claws came deathly close, one, two, a third swipe that was going to bat her like a mouse. "Waaah!"

"Ayase!" Waisu craned her neck, struggling to hold on. But something else was striking too, something that caught Waisu's eye.

The descending paw, set in its deadly arc, was met in midair and knocked aside by a whirlwind top of fabric, wings, and cold steel that laid in, cutting a notch from the surface and eliciting a chittering and clattering of parts as the monster was thrown off of its balance.

Wing beats slowed the spin, cloak fluttering aside as Bo-chan skidded once, rolled, and grabbed hold of Aya around her middle, hefting the smaller girl like she was nothing more than a sack of seeds before kicking back off into the air.

"Erika, Ki-kun!" Bo-chan called out before extending her own hand and beginning a hurried chant. Now that they had Aya, the others didn't have to hold back. Runes lit the dark space, their ancient wisdom playing over the ground and the wooden crates that surrounded them, their chants completing one by one.

Waisu grimaced, feeling every muscle in her body bunching, she and Ai-chan just had to hold it for a few more seconds . . . And then suddenly the line light up, she was nearly sent flying.

Erika's spell struck first, a shower of wind blades that smashed the monster in the center of its chest, striking with a sound like hatchets chopping wood, and nearly toppling it over backwards before Ki-kun's ice spell extended a layer of frost across its surface, body creaking as the cold and ice crept inside. The monster shuddered, its limbs batting about feebly as the blue fire in its eyes paled.

Then Bo-chan finished her spell, an ember of fire light growing in her fist before she punched out, a single arrow of flame connecting her to the heart of Ki-kun's ice before it all flashed into steam.

The creature was tough, it had only barely been fazed by swords, and even Wind Magic had done more to stun it than to hurt it. Maybe it could have even handled fire or ice. But it couldn't handle both at the same time.

An ear splitting, short lived -Crack- echoed as the flame burst apart in a shower of sparks, embers rising up from within the splintered body of the monster as it was torn apart in a blast of steam and body parts, its skeletal head making to bounce across the floor once, twice, before settling, the light fading from its sunken eyes.

Waisu dropped in an instant, hitting the floor with a firm -thud-. She didn't care about the noise at that moment, just the fear that her wings were going to give out on her.

"Ayase." Waisu breathed as sight of relief as Bo-chan set down beside her, permitting a bone white Aya to fall to her hands and knees, trembling with fading adrenaline. "Uhm, Ayase?"

"She'll be okay." Bo-chan promised as she removed her helmet, rich golden brown hair spilling down to her shoulders. The elder girl smiled sympathetically. "She's just got to work over the shock."

"Oy! She can work over it later." Ai-chan complained. "Right now, we've gotta move, that noise is going to draw attention. And the guards are going to know somethings up when they find _that_!" She pointed to the remains of the defeated guardian. "Walk now, cry later!"

Bo-chan scowled, but she didn't seem to think Ai-chan was wrong. Ki-kun didn't think so either. In fact, she seemed to agree completely. "She's right, Botan, we need to go now. Before . . . "

-Click-

To the last, all six girls went stiff. A terrible creak from on high drew Waisu's eyes upwards to the ceiling where a pair of flaming blue pools of fire looked back.

The shriek barely had time to form in her throat before the world blossomed into painfully bright light, dazzling her eyes, and washing away the shadows all around them.

"That's enough!" A Giant's voice thundered out, echoing within the great chamber, the 'basement' of the being encampment that they'd been sent to infiltrate.

The ground shook, a colossal shadow blotting out the light. In place of the devilish blue-fire eyes, a giant towered over her, holding their struggling assailant by the scruff of its neck. Mind bogglingly big, and ugly to all of her sensibilities, why, even that face fur looked scruffy! Not cute at all!

"Looks like we win again. Better luck next time, girls!" Looking over his shoulder, the giant called towards the door of the room. "We found them, they're in here!"

The giant looked down on them with mirthful eyes that left Edelweiss feeling like she wasn't being taken seriously at all. And that was probably because Athus _didn't_ take them seriously. 'But we'll beat you . . . eventually!' Edelweiss promised herself.

"Ah man . . ." Ai-chan, Ajisai-chan, Knight of Tarbes Garden and an Elder sister who was in every way Edelweiss' senior groaned as she settled down beside the younger Vespid Knight. "And I thought we were totally going to win this time!" She said, pulling at her hair angrily. "All that work for nothing!"

"It wasn't for nothing." Bo-chan . . . Knight Botan, also of Tarbes Garden, informed sternly. "We learned a lot."

"Oh really? What did we learn?" The last of the senior Knights, Ki-kun, Kigiku asked as she walked forward, pulling off the helmet as she joined with her sister.

"Well for one, never trust a freshly blossomed sister's nose!" Ajisai grumbled unhappily while giving Erika a dubious look.

Erika, the youngest out of all of the Knights, which was to say, the newest blossomed, scowled. "It's not my fault. I didn't smell a thing. And none of you did either!" Her brow furrowed before looked up at the giant hovering over them. The being, or rather the human, who was one of the officers responsible for their training. "Just how?"

"Aye, now there's a question." Athus smiled, crouching down before the gathered group of Pixies, a motion that was like a mountain slouching over. The human shook the beast hanging in its hands, no larger than a cat, and just as vicious as those evil animals that the humans liked to keep as pets. "You girls have sharp noses, but I bet you weren't looking for wood and stone now were ya? Hav'ta remember, some of the aristocrats like to use their magic as a mark of prestige, there might be a time or two where your greatest enemy'll be something no brighter than this little toy."

It resembled them too, in general shape, but that was where all similarity ended, bereft of skin, and covered in only patches of fur that were more aesthetic than anything, most of the creature was made of wood, arms and legs comprised of ball-sockets and hinges. Edelweiss could only compare it to a doll, one of those human 'toys' that was made to resemble a Sister of the Gardens, but this one moved freely to and fro, and appeared non too happy as it continued to wriggle in Athus' hand, not quite understanding that it was being held in place by a handle on its back.

Wood and stone, a doll made of the same materials as the buildings, of course, that was why none of them had been able to smell it. It was an embarrassing thing to learn now of all times.

"Let that be a lesson not to rely too much on just one sense!" Athus barked a kind little laugh, reminded of the thing in his hand as the doll redoubled its efforts to get free. "Aye, almost forgot." Engulfing the doll's head in one giant hand, Athus pulled until, with a -pop-, the head separated from its neck and the body went limp. "Not bad for being caught by surprise I'll grant you, but if you ever have to stop one of these in the future, you should try to aim for wherever you think it's got its 'chem'. That's the enchantment you have to destroy to break an Alvis. Chances are it'd be quieter too. These fellows can see and hear well, but they can't smell you like a real animal, and there dumb as stones if they aren't instructed just so. Next time, you should try to be the ones that get the drop on them!"

Calls of a 'Yes Sir!' rose up from five of the six Knights, leaving only . . .

"Ayase? Ayase-sama?" Edelweiss leaned over the eldest Knight of her garden. "Uhm, Ayase-sama?"

"Just leave me alone!" Ayase mumbled, her face as red as roses.

"Ah, what's the matter Ayase-sama?" Edelweiss paused to sniff at the air, Ayase's head fell shamefully.

It was Erika who offered the answer. Or rather, it was Erika who was blunt enough to say it out loud. "Isn't it obvious? She peed her pants."


	28. Chapter 6 Part 4: Aberrant

Halkegenia Online v3 - Chapter 6 - Part 4

In the beginning there had been only the great sea of chaos _Ginnungigap, _the great void which churned with the turmoil of the ages. It had been a time of no time, and a place of no space, a universe without life until one day the flotsam of the sea came together in the form of a single seed which began to sprout and spread its roots into the abyss and its branches up into the sky.

Thus had been born the First Life, the World Tree, the All Mother Yggdrasil whose great spiral trunk had endured and broken the banshee winds, and whose vast roots tamed the tides and collected the flotsam of the sea to form the first lands and their pool of tranquil ocean.

Many ages passed like so and many firsts came and went, the first rain collecting against Yggdrasil's trunk to fill the rivers and lakes, the first mountains rising as great roots shifted beneath the surface of the land, and the first lives washing up with the flotsam, the earth and the stones.

They were fragile things, much too fragile to survive as the all Mother had in the Sea of Chaos, and so they had taken shelter upon the newly formed lands, in the calm shallows, and even within Yggdrasil's mighty trunk. This the All Mother did abide and these lives became the first of her Children, but far from the last.

For the land was not whole and was still inhospitable to them, a million fold inviting compared to the Sea of Chaos, but still a barren wasteland in which to eke out an existence. The birds struggled to feed on Yggdrasil's high fruit, the fish hunted for scraps among the fresh flotsam, and the insects and animals sought what they could among the All Mother's roots and shoots.

The land was not whole for it had not yet been made so.

And so did Yggdrasil transform the land one day, her crest growing a brilliant crown of blossoms to spread her seeds, to be watered by the rains and grown beneath the sun. Plants took root to grow and blossom, trees, and vines, and flowers, and so too were born the Small Lives, the Pixies.

There was balance in all things, and to allow that balance to err was to invite disaster. As Yggdrasil had brought order from Chaos, her many daughters did the same to the land that would be ALfheim, small hands spreading her seeds wide and tending to all of their great mother's beloved children. Under their care, the lands grew lush and varied, the forests of the west, the marshes of the east, the desserts of the south, and the tundras of the north. Life took the place of the lifeless and flourished until their purpose was fulfilled and they were no longer needed.

In return for their tireless service, Yggdrasil's daughters were rewarded, given their own place within their mother's domain to live in peace.

Life had always been very difficult for them, and dangerous. As the land grew to assume its vastness, and the lives they had shepherded became the powerful beasts and predators that inhabited the wilds, many forgetting their old minders as the generations went by. But so long as they had their sisters and their Gardens, the Small Lives could endure.

That was where they would always belong, minding and tending to the forests and to the unborn blossoms of their countless sisters.

'So why is it . . .' Kigiku, Knight of the Garden of the Forests of Tarbes asked she sat, legs neatly folded, eyes closed, and face composed in meditation ' . . . that I am in a place like this?'

The place being waist deep in a pleasantly warm pool of clear, still water, steam gently wafting into the air to damp her skin and wet her hair. It was a far cry from the cold streams and puddles that she was used to bathing in, and a good deal more relaxing without dozens of her Little Sisters splashing and playing all around her. Only other, somber Knights sitting in quiet reflection to end the day.

"Wooohooo!" A gleeful 'whoop' impinged on her consciousness, followed not more than a scarce moment later by a -splash- and a face full of water. "This . . . is . . . amazing!"

Indeed, so much more relaxing, Kigiku thought with commendable restraint as she slowly wiped the water from her closed eyes, feeling a small tick developing at her sister's antics.

"Ajisai." Kigiku reprimanded.

"Ah spoil-sport!" The younger knight disapproved, sticking out her tongue when Kigiku cracked an eye and then turning to dive under the water with a flash of her frosted and discolored wings.

It was not something to grow angry over, Kigiku reminded herself. She who was the Eldest Knight of her Garden had to be patient with the exuberance of those who were younger. It was the same patience which she had moderated her sisters under Sayuri's leadership and sought to curb the worst of the previous Knight's aggression. The fact that she had failed in doing so and been swept along in events as they transpired was all the more reason to renew her convictions now.

"Let the girl have her fun." Ayame, the Eldest Knight of the Garden of the Marshes of Orlein waved one hand dismissively. "Besides, this is pretty great, isn't it?"

The marsh born Knight reclined back, resting her arms along the rim of the pool. After her scare during the training exercise that day, along with the embarrassment that came with not holding her bladder, she was back to her more or less normal, incourteous self. Which just went to show that something was very odd about Eastern Pixies.

From their elevated position situated at the windowsill, alongside several more wash basins occupied by still more of their sisters, Kigiku craned her neck to look all around the room.

Well, it was a room to the giantesses they shared it with, seated at washing stations and relaxing in the pond that they called a bath. Most were fairly quiet while they washed, though some talked among themselves and some of what they said inevitably reached Kigiku's ears.

"Can you believe Kirito-kun? After all we've been through, he's still afraid of a few little needles!" A familiar voice sounded angry.

"Uhm . . . _little?_"

"They weren't that much bigger. Maybe if he'd gotten his exam on time Kiriyu-san wouldn't have run out of the second batch . . . Ah! Caramella that's hot!"

"It's just the cold from before, you've still got goose flesh. Now hold still and I'll get your back . . ."

That was just a little of what the Knight could hear over the background murmur and the soft lapping splash of water. This place was just one room of one building, but to Kigiku it felt more like a vast cavern, the ceiling made of wooden beams so far over their heads they might as well have been back in the forest. And all of this was just built so that Faeries could have a hot bath.

Too big. Everything Faeries and Beings did was too big! That they would build a house for their baths!

It was just another way their errant sisters were mad in the head. Though maybe with recent events they were finally starting to come to their senses. The Faeries mentioned being in a 'dream' a lot, maybe they'd finally woken up from whatever King Oberon and Queen Titania had done to them all of those ages ago.

Maybe they'd _all_ been a dream, Kigiku thought as she looked back on the haze that blurred her memories past the last few months, only the vague impression of how things had always been.

Hinagiku seemed to think so, though she'd seemed somewhat upset when Kigiku had spoken to her last, very much unlike her.

Lady Sakuya at least seemed earnest in her efforts to help the Gardens and close the rift that had grown among Yggdrasil's daughters. She'd proven that by honoring their request to participate in the defense of their homes.

Kigiku didn't know very much about war, she had been born to be a guardian not a soldier, the idea of an intentional conflict was a foreign idea that she had only been introduced to during Sayuri's unstable reign, but she could already sense the immensity of such a thing, that its threat could bring all of the fractured Faerie races together under a single banner.

'And us too.' Because like it or not, the Pixies had sought this out. It was a change from their secluded existence, and she would have had no issue with that if not for the other changes it was bringing.

Ayame sat up out of the water. "Hey, Erika, could you do the thing again?"

The young Knight sitting off silently by herself, appeared to look up from some internal conversation. Nodding once, she reached up to pull at the string tied to to the lever above her head. The lever actuated a valve, opening the spigot of a large pot that proceeded to overfill the the wooden bath, the water's surface rising to Kigiku's chest before overflowing and spilling over into a drain.

With the change in water level came a resurgence of warmth and a soft shiver that passed through the Knight and left behind a contented sigh.

"See?" Ayame laughed. "You're enjoying it too!"

"Enjoying is not the same thing as approving." The Elder Sister of Tarbes insisted.

Like this hot bath or the wonderfully soft clothes and warm nest that their Faerie sisters had given them to sleep in. This sort of luxury was unfitting of a Vespid Knight or any sort of Pixie, and more often than not, it had been Kigiku who had been forced to curb her sisters and their relentless enthusiasm for all of the strange Faerie things.

There were no younger sisters to watch out for here, but there were also very few Shamans to keep the Knights in line. She had a responsibility to keep her Sisters from growing rowdy, if only it wasn't such a job unto itself as she tugged at the ends of her light brown hair. Of course, they wouldn't be without the Shamans if they and half of the Knights didn't have to stay with the Gardens. Troubling!

Even some of the other Elder Sisters had gotten carried away. The only other person who seemed to have kept her head in all of this was Botan. Kigiku paused at that thought, her attention gravitating to the girl who sat up on the rim of the bath, busying herself with drying out her hair with a napkin that she'd taken as a towel. Even in the damp bath air, traces of her scent stirred memories at the back of Kigiku's mind.

Botan was big for a Knight, which made her big for any Pixie. Mother Yggdrasil had granted her deepest wish it seemed.

Kigiku was grateful of course for her Sister's help. Botan had a force of will that had been almost comical not so long ago as it was worn by a slip of a Little Sister running around the Garden pretending she was a Knight. Now that she was fully blossomed, that powerful personality had become a commanding presence that demanded recognition.

It was natural that she would be that way now as she grew into herself, but Botan had changed more that physically and maybe even more spiritually than the ways in which a Knight should.

"Hey Bo-chan, you're already getting out?" Ajisai popped her head out the water, looking on with curious expression.

Though both were Knights, they stood at two extremes, Botan a tall and sturdily built Sister while Ajisai was stouter and quite short for a Knight, a full figured girl that fought a constant battle with chubbiness thanks to her love of honey. Honestly, sometimes Kigiku wondered if during her blossoming Mother Yggdrasil hadn't just decided to turn all of her fat into muscle and been done with it!

Likewise, Ajisai couldn't help but be exuberant and boisterous. She'd laugh and chatter with the trusting personality of a Little Sister, there was never a time or a place where it didn't seem she could make a friend. Botan was comparatively quiet and restrained, even for a Knight.

"Un. I've made prior arrangements." Botan supplied quietly. "More lessons."

"Lessons?" Edelweiss looked interested. "You mean like extra drills and stuff?" Her expression changed to a frown. "I can understand, we were sloppy today. That was my error." The girl bowed her head and then flinched as she received a firm smack between the wings from Ajisai.

"Hey there! Don't be hard on yourself Waisu-chan! There's six of us, so you're only one sixth completely to blame for what happened!" The shorter Knight announced as she continued to plant her palm over and over into Waisu's back. "I'm actually glad we have another big reliable sister on our team. Don't worry, we're going to kick butt with a new strategy next time! Isn't that right, Ki-kun?"

"Some ideas have occurred to me." Kigiku agreed, though now was hardly the place to talk them over. It might only work once, and she didn't want to see the opportunity go to another team.

"In either case, I am relieved and honored that you feel that way, Kigiku-san, Ajisai-san." Waisu wiped a strand of her short snowy hair from her eyes. "Then we shall look forward to victory in the next exercise."

"Especially if Bo-chan is sharpening her skills!" Ajisai surmised confidently. Their sister's performance in the last fight certainly suggested she'd improved since her first clumsy duel with Sayuri.

"It's nothing like that, really." Botan insisted, looking suddenly embarrassed as she was made to explain herself in the curious eyes of her sisters. "It's . . . tutoring . . ."

"Tutoring?" Ajisai tilted her head.

Botan nodded. "Books and scripts. It's hard, but I think it's important to learn to read them properly. Besides, it will be useful when the humans receive word back on where I should continue my search. If I need something read, I may not have the luxury of having it read to me."

Books and reading? Kigiku hid her frown well. She understood the important of being able to read the maps used by Beings and Faeries, she had even been made to understand the importance of being able to read orders and letters, but Botan was already good enough to do those things. Certainly anything more was better left to the Shamans.

But that wasn't the least of the young Knight's oddness. More so than anyone, she had an affinity for dealing with the Fae and with the Beings, and then there was her shamanly attitude towards the little ones. Kigiku had once heard Miss Asuna described her as 'mothering' when she played with Shion, treating the delighted, squealing little sister like a human or Faerie would tread their own children.

Not only was the thought of treating a Sister as if she was the exclusive product of oneself and another Sister thoroughly disturbing, the idea of . . . of . . . _pollinating _one another like Dagger Dogs and Faeries and then ripening up while the blossomlings grew inside of her body had nearly made Kigiku wretch.

Such things were not improper for animals, or even their errant sisters who had sacrificed their bond with Yggdrasil to assume the powerful forms of their King and Queen, becoming infused with the quality of Gender in the process, but it was not the natural way of Pixies and especially not Knights.

Kigiku loved her younger sisters as completely as any other Daughter of Yggdrasil, and she would lay her life down in a heartbeat to protect any one of them, but it was a task for the Shamans to care for the little ones and see that their needs were met. Knights were Guardians, Shamans were caretakers, and rarely did their rolls overlap. That was just the way things should be.

But it seemed to be Botan's way to be thoroughly contradictory, contradicting her place, contradicting the Eldest Sister, contradicting everything about what she was, Botan was a Pixie of many contradictions. And central to that contradiction was the strange happenings that Kigiku had heard reported from all of the Gardens, not simply Tarbes, but in every home of Small Lives.

There had been some concern when the Shamans and Knight had decided to aid the Faeries in exchange for the protection they received. Nearly four hundred Sisters had been gathered up from all of the Gardens, leaving the fighting strength of the Vespid Knights that remained behind dangerously diminished.

But Mother Yggdrasil had provided as always, the last full moons had been like firefly spawning seasons, dozens of new Sister had been born to each of the Gardens. Just as quickly, many of their Sisters had begun to show the first signs of blossoming, rapid weight gain, swelling of their wing stems, and the shifts in personality and resistance to the authority of their Elder Sisters.

This was natural, part of their sacred duty to protect Mother Yggdrasil's Ordained Balance, the Gardens had to be filled and Mother Yggdrasil would ensure that it happened, and likewise that the Gardens would have their Knights. But for so many to be pressured into blossoming so quickly, Hinagiku had told her of the difficulty, the tantrums thrown by the girls even as the first waves of fever set in, and the anxiety it had caused for the Sisters who had been pressed into helping the Shamans to care for their changing siblings.

That too was a natural part of the difficult lives they led, and Kigiku accepted that the decisions the the Elder Sisters had made had led directly to this. But she had not been prepared for what had happened next.

As expected, most of the new Sisters were Knights and had been welcomed with open arms by their Elder Siblings and due reverence and respect by the Little Sisters, a few had been Shamans who had likely awakened to their calling in the wake of the upheaval of the first wave of Blossomings.

And then there had been the aberrations. Kigiku chewed her lip, only a tiny handful overall, perhaps less than one in every hundred, sisters were neither Knights nor Shamans and who the Shamans did not know quite what to do with.

Hinagiku's wisdom had been demanded on every occasion having been the one to deal with the blossoming of the errant Navigation Pixie Suisen along with a Pixie lost from Sayuri's garden who had fallen into the care of a Being Merchant. Those Sisters had both become something unsettlingly _different _yet apparently healthy and without ill affect, Kigiku was forced to accept it as part of Mother Yggdrasil's design.

It was quite another thing for such aberrants to appear among the dutiful Pixies of the Gardens. She could not but accept some measure of blame for this and seek some explanation for why.

Kigiku was no Shaman, but she was not above the vice of speculation, watching Botan carefully as the other Knight explained herself to her curious Sisters.

Kigiku didn't believe in coincidences, Mother Yggdrasil had a plan for all of them, even Sayuri who had rightly feared for the safety of their home even if that fear had become madness in the end. When the time had come and Sayuri's duty had been fulfilled, Mother Yggdrasil had rightly unmade her and taken back the power and wisdom that had been such horrible burdens for Shion.

Watching Botan, she really _was_ the perfect Knight in both body and prowess, exactly what Kigiku had thought of Sayuri when she had been found and taken into their Garden, and just as aberrant in spirit as the former Knight.

How very convenient that Botan had blossomed at just such a time with just such an aberrant Spirit and been so perfectly suited to the task of bringing her sister's over from the cause of the sickened and deranged Sayuri.

"Well, it's definitely weird." Ajisai decided, speaking for the rest of her sisters as she gave Botan a queer look. Ajisai was not a girl who remained doubtful for long however, face drawing into a smile. "But Bo-chan's got a good head on her shoulders so she might be onto something."

Botan smiled hesitantly at her Sister's encouragement. "Do you really think so?"

"Un!" Ajisai showed a toothy grin. "Bo-chan really has blossomed as a Knight. Especially this part!"

"A-Ajisai!"

Kigiku winced while the others covered of averted their eyes while flushing furiously. Only Ajisai would let her curiosity overcome taboo. It just . . . wasn't _proper_.

"Ajisai!" Kigiku barked to reign in her Garden-mate, it wouldn't do for the others to see this and make a fuss of it.

"Eh?" The stout Knight looked up.

"Why don't you let your Sister hurry up and finish so she can make it to her lesson?" Kigiku suggested. Botan wasted no time in worming away from Ajisai and hurried wrapping her towel around herself, bowing politely to Kigiku as her eldest sister.

"Thank you, Kigiku-sama. I shall take my leave now."

Watching Botan retreat now, such an aberrant sister, just like Sayuri, and just like Sayuri, that aberration had expressed itself more and more in her personality. Where Sayuri had raged, however, Botan had grown quieter. Where a Knight should be somber, Botan was at times almost morose. The only thing that seemed to center her was the thought of her lost Sisters, a search that quietly consumed her almost from the moment that Sayuri had been defeated.

They all had a purpose, Kigiku reminded herself. But what happened to them when that purpose was complete? It wasn't a thought she cared much for, she hated problems she couldn't fight.

* * *

><p>Troubling, very troubling. Such troubling developments recently, Hinagiku thought.<p>

Hinagiku was a Shaman, to guide and care for her Sisters had always been her mother's plan for her and she embraced it with the whole of her being as a noble purpose. For all of their bravery and tenacity, the Small Lives were weak and fragile. The world was dangerous, and life was very difficult for them, they had only their Sisters and their Gardens to ease that burden. It was up to the Knights to protect them from without and the Shamans to uphold propriety and guide their daily lives.

That simple conviction had directed the Shaman in all things, until recently that was. Now, the smallest hint of uncertainty had taken hold, a worming anxiety that had worked its way deep inside her heart.

What good was propriety if she could not divine the correct path?

The Eldest Sister's mind raced, frantically examining and discarding every story and scrap of wisdom she possessed. There had to be something, some reason, some explanation for what was happening all around her. There was nothing else but for it to be so.

But it felt to her like that conviction was ringing less and less true every day. The changes to her sisters and their way of life were becoming too much to ignore.

It had started with the transformation of the land and the human beings that had arrived in their forests, and it had continued with the return of their distant sisters who had approached them sincerely for the first time in living memory. But it did not stop there.

'Mother, why do you test me like this?' Hinagiku, Eldest Sister of the Garden of the Forests of Tarbes wondered as she fixed her attention on the grindstone in her lap, mashing the flower petals and herb leaves down into a fine green paste. The preparation helped to ease the anxiety that had become her constant companion.

"Uhm . . . I think . . . It's done Hinagiku-sama."

"Hmm? O-Oh." Hina looked down at her hands and the fine green paste that had begun to froth over, clinging to her fingers with its sappy sweetness. To have lost track like that . . . The Shaman shook her head, it was not at all how an Elder Sister should be acting.

Carefully wiping her hands, the Shaman turned the grinding bowl precisely one quarter to the right and lifted it in both hands, pouring the contents into a pot heated by still hot embers taken from the Nest hearth.

"Uhm . . ."

Hinagiku raised a hand, and when her visitor fell silent, she placed her hands together and recited a short prayer. By the time she had finished, the contents of the pot had heated to fill the room with their scent. The small ritual completed, the Shaman felt almost at once more at ease.

Mother Yggdrasil always had a purpose in her actions, if it was her will for this to happen, then so be it. It was Hinagiku's purpose to understand the reasons why and convey them to her Sisters.

She returned her attention to the Sister seated before her and smiled kindly, it seemed like the right thing to do, the girl certainly needed to know someone was with her right now.

A very peculiar Sister and the source of her worries these past days. It had not been too long ago that Rose, Sister of the Garden of the Forest of Tarbes, had been just one of many dozens of young Sisters who inhabited their Garden and tended to the Forest under the watchful eyes of her Elder Sisters.

The big cheeked girl was gone now, the lingering fat of a newborn melted away in the heat of her Blossoming. Slim for one, like a Shaman, but without any of the softness of a caretaker. This girl was all long, gangling limbs and sharp features, pointed chin and high, elegant forehead draped in long dark hair. Her slender wings stretched out behind her as she sat properly with hands in her lap.

The girl looked up and down, side to side, everyplace except for at Hinagiku.

"You don't need to be anxious, Rose-chan, you're not in any sort of trouble." Hinagiku said gently. She finally stopped fidgeting long enough to look up. Big and dark eyes looked right into Hinagiku, trying to tell if that really was true. But the Shaman didn't know either. It would all depend on how things went. Things that weren't fully under her control.

"Uhm . . . uh . . . Y-yes . . . Hinagiku-sama."

Hina tilted her head. "You can just call me Hina if you like, Rose-chan, you are an Elder Sister now, we are alike in that respect." Linked through their shared bond with their Great Mother. "I only want to help you."

"Y-yes . . . Hinag- Hina-san. Thank you."

Hinagiku's smile faded, just a little, seeing one of her Sisters like this simply caused her heart to ache. "Now then, Rose-chan." The Shaman grew more serious as she folded her hands neatly in her lap. "You know why you are here."

Rose nodded slowly. "You are Eldest Sister of the Garden, the Shamans and Knights defer to your wisdom. I suppose you are to decide what will be done with me. Whether I'll stay like this or if . . ." She stopped mid-sentence, shaking her head slowly. It wasn't a pleasant thing for anyone to think on for long.

Finally, Hinagiku's smile faded into a full frown. A Sister's blossoming was a sacred right between herself and Yggdrasil, the choice to surrender their Mother's Gifts and return to as they were should also be something that a Sister decided for herself. "Rose-chan, I promise that nobody will do that to you unless it is what you truly want."

Hinagiku watched carefully as Rose stiffened all over for a moment before her shoulders drooped, a motion that sent her wings along with them. "Oh." She said simply, and then, "Maybe it would be better that way."

"And why would you say that?" Hinagiku asked.

Rose didn't answer at first. Instead, she pulled at the collar of her dress and tugged at its skirt. Rose was neither a Knight nor a Shaman, she warranted neither a Knight's blouse and skirt nor a Shaman's robes, and though she was slight and her dress had been let out, the garment was still noticeably small on her frame.

"Rose-chan?"

"The Shamans hate me . . ." Rose began.

"Oh, Rose-chan, we don't ha . . ."

"They hate me." Rose repeated firmly, and as if something inside of her had been brought to life her expression became set and determined. "You're kind, Hina-san, but the others aren't as kind as you. They can't help how they feel about me. They can't stand any Sister who isn't a certain way and I'm _wrong_!" She shivered as she said those words. "Even I know that. If I was a Knight, or a Shaman, then everything would be okay, but I'm not. I'm me! I'm the _problem_!"

There was more anger in that voice than anguish, and there was much more to be said as well. "The Shamans hate me, so the Knights don't trust me, and the Younger Sisters are afraid of me." Rose squeezed her eyes shut. "I just wish my wish had never been granted! I just wanted to _understand_ better, but what's the point if all I understand is how _miserable_ I am?!"

Hina waited until Rose was done before she even thought of saying a word. It was harsh, what she said, but it also was not untrue, as shameful as that was to admit, and Rose needed to say these things and be listened to so that she would listen back. Hina had not been there when Rose had blossomed, there had been many Blossoming's over the past week as the Garden replenished itself, and she had been needed elsewhere.

Rose had been cared for by the others and the first Hina had seen of the new Elder Sister was when she had been sought out by the other Shamans who had insisted that something terrible had happened.

That 'Something terrible' had turned out to be Rose herself.

Legs folded as she had sat hip deep in the husk of her withered skin, examining long limbs in the moonslight, wings still damp and fragile. Rose shouldn't have been sitting up so quickly and she most certainly shouldn't have been left unattended by her Sisters.

Hina had seen an aberrant Blossoming before, the Navigation Pixie Suisen, and so she had not been nearly so shocked by Rose's comparatively mild aberration. But most of the other Tarbes Shaman's had not been present for that occurrence. They had been so afraid to go near Rose that they hadn't even made sure she was alright, instead hiding behind the Knights as if they had forgotten she was their beloved Sister and needed them now more than ever.

Hina had only known more shame as she'd listened to Churippu and Bijozakura conferring with one another, her younger siblings it seemed had been fully intent on having the Knights restrain Rose. They'd only lacked the courage to go through with it before Hina had arrived.

Their Eldest Sister's denial had been immediate and absolute.

Those had been the first voices to speak out, but they hadn't been the last.

'Life is very difficult for us.' Hina thought. 'But perhaps we have been fortunate too.' The forest could be dangerous beyond the boundary of their Garden, but it also was their sanctuary, protecting them from those who might seek to do them harm, along with everything else.

If Hina had not seen Suisen's aberrant blossoming for herself then she feared she would have agreed with her fellow sisters without a second thought, she would have been certain it was for the best, and she would almost certainly have been wrong. Instead, doubt had taken root in her heart and she could not escape its clutches no matter how she tried.

"But . . ." Rose started up again and Hina listened, it was best for her to say everything she felt. "Even though I think that, I don't want to whither away either."

The Shaman gestured for her Sister to continue.

"It started with the books."

"Arthur-san's library." Hinagiku surmised.

Rose nodded. So she had thought correctly. The Lord of Tarbes had been a good friend to them these past months and very generous with the Sisters who came frequently to visit his home and see the flowers and herbs that he raised in his garden.

Among those frequent visitors had been the Shamans, Hinagiku herself, and of course, Rose.

The Shamans visited to learn about the plants and animals that intruded on their forest, but also to study the printed language of the humans. Knowledge of written words and letters had never been needed before, now it was essential. The humans kept so much of their knowledge as written words, as did the Faeries.

In fact, Hinagiku had begun to wonder if the humans were not distant kin to Oberon and Titania. Perhaps they had originated in this land, or one nearby, Sakuya's explanation had been . . . confusing to follow to say the least.

Arthur had offered his home and his library for the Pixies to learn all that they could, and the reading room had been crowded almost constantly with sisters working their way tirelessly through the materials that had been made available, Shamans and Knights clumsily sounding out the written words and struggling to make sense of them.

It had helped a little that Arthur had taken to teaching Euphrasie as well, the human girl and her _mother_ had recently taken to living within the Count's home and Arthur had become very interested in her studies. The Pixies had become his students as well as he had lectured them on a dizzying variety of subjects. Hina had wondered how old the Count was that he'd had time to learn so much. Everything he knew, he'd been eager to teach them, and the Knights and Shamans had been eager to learn.

And then there had been Rose.

Rose had not been there to learn about kingdoms, or reading, or herbs, in fact, she hadn't been there to do much learning at all. The Count's home was also home to four of the lost Little Sisters who had been reluctant to leave their adoptive caretakers. Celandine, Iris, Lily, and Olive had done well in their new home, flourishing as assistants to the Count in caring for his garden, they were loved and happy, and Hina could not have imagined taking them away from the home they had found for themselves.

But they were also alone in that place with only one another for company, a Sister she been surrounded by dozens of her siblings, not just two or three. So inevitably some of the Sisters from the garden had been brought along simply to see the outside and to be with their siblings. Rose had been one of these Sisters who had first been brought along as a playmate until one day she had wondered into the Count's library on her own and come across one of Arthur's notebooks.

She'd been found hours later, pouring over the pages of beautifully drawn flowers and scolded for wondering off before being made to return home with the rest of her siblings before sunset. Hinagiku would not have thought much more on the incident if she had not recognized it in retrospect as the first step of many down the path Rose now walked.

"So beautiful." Rose whispered. "And so much more than I ever thought they were. I just wanted to know more and more about them, about their forms, and about their lines, such beautiful lines. Then I learned that there were even more beautiful things in the world, it's so amazing Hina-san." Touching hands gently to her temples, Hina was briefly worried that Rose would start to cry. "Yggdrasil-sama! I don't want to lose that. If I went back to the way I was . . . I can see it in the Little Sisters, they're happy, but they're so dull, they don't understand, they _can't_!_"_

"They are what they are." Hina reasoned gently. "Your Sisters are all sweet and kind girls."

"And I love them very much." Rose agreed. "But it's not the same now." She lowered her head. "I used to think some of my Sisters were so clever, much smarter than me, but really, they aren't much different from how I was before."

"And now?" Hina asked, the small cell was growing hot and sappy with the smell of incense, but she hardly noticed. "What about now?"

"Now, I feel like I can think straight for the first time. Everything before is like something that happened to someone else." Rose explained. "But that's normal, isn't it? I wouldn't know anyways." The hair draped down her forehead fanned loosely as she shook. "Mostly, I just feel so alone now."

Hinagiku reached out, taking her Sister's hand. "You are not alone Rose-chan, you're Sisters are here for you."

"You say that, Hina-san, and I know that you mean it." Rose squeezed back, her posture growing relaxed at the simple comfort of touch. "I can't help how I feel. I don't think there's anything here for me now. I don't belong like I used to."

This was a difficult situation. As Eldest Sister, it was Hinagiku's sworn duty to find the answer, a way to return the Garden to its proper harmony. There was a place in their home for every Sister, but what was to be done with one who did not fit? But she had to try, for Rose's sake.

"If the other Shamans spent time with you, I'm sure they'd grow to like you." Hina suggested. "You're a clever girl Rose-chan, I'm sure you could learn if you liked." Humans were not born with the knowledge of what they were, but they could learn, certainly Rose could do the same if she liked.

The errant Sister scowled all too viciously at the thought. "It's just not interesting, learning by rote, I couldn't stand having so many questions and no answers. No, that would be like rotting alive."

Hina frowned, Yggdrasil-sama furnished her daughter's with all the answers they needed, going out to find answers to needless questions was . . .strange to say the least. 'It is part of who Rose is.' Hina reminded herself.

"Then perhaps you would prefer to work with the Knights? You are very swift on your feet and I'm sure your sisters would appreciate someone who thinks ahead."

"The Knight's are even worse!" Rose declared. "They're more impressed with their muscles than their brains and I couldn't care less about fighting. Besides, my body's all wrong to be a Knight." She pinched at one skinny arm for emphasis.

So perhaps that wasn't the solution either. Hina bit her lip. "It is difficult indeed, Rose-chan. Forgive me, but I do believe I will need time to think about this. But I promise you that we will find your path, together."

The words rang hollow to Hinagiku, but they were the only ones she had to give. Bowing to her Sister and waiting for the other girl to depart, only when she was gone did Hina let her weariness show. She'd felt so heavy recently with all of the worried of her Sisters resting on her shoulders. Even for an Eldest Sister it was a difficult burden.

She'd sat back quietly, laid her hands on her stomach, and closed her eyes, breathing in the thick air as she drifted into a meditative trance, losing herself until all that existed was her hearbeat and the distant voices of chants, whispered wind, and faint drums. Try as she might, no answers came that day and she wondered for a time what their Mother's plan was.

'Rose-chan is what she is.' And what that was, was exactly what Mother meant her to be. No, she was not _wrong_ she was exactly as she should be. Her blossoming had a purpose, Rose just hadn't found it yet, and neither had Hina.

The answer had not come the next day, or the next, so much so that Hinagiku began to despair whenever she saw Rose wondering the Garden, examining the work being done by the other girls or else engaging in her own odd rituals, measuring stems and leaves and scratching symbols into the ground as she whispered under her breath.

In the end, Hina realized, she should have expected the answer to come from the strangest of places.

"I'm at my wits end with that girl." Hinagiku sighed as she accepted a bowl of tea offered by woman towering up beside her. The healer Florine smiled sympathetically as she poured her own cup.

They sat together on a felled log on the edge of the Burned Garden. The agreed upon meeting place where humans and Pixies could speak on neutral ground. The name was now almost meaningless among the vibrant shoots and flowers. This place had begun healing quickly, although there were no signs of any new Yggdrasil Blossoms, and it was likely there would not be for many years to come.

The garden still needed constant care as it was nursed back to health and in the end, the Knights had constructed an outpost of sorts so that the Sisters who worked here did not need to travel constantly between the Gardens. This was also convenient for the human as it was not uncommon for a human or two to arrive daily in need of help, and for those same humans to convey the needs of the Pixies to the Villagers of Tarbes.

It was an arrangement that had worked well for the two settlements and Hina had high hopes that it would allow both to thrive in peace. In any case, it made a good place to meet with the healer and voice her thoughts to someone who might offer better advice than her fearful sisters.

"She's a clever girl. But she isn't satisfied at all with her life in the Garden. I just don't know what else I can do for her." Hinagiku carefully rotated her bowl twice and took a single sip of the hot and bitter drink. "If it was simply her Sisters' bullying I could make them stop, but it's more than that . . . What is funny about such things?" Hina scowled as Florine began to chuckle, the human woman shaking her head as she wiped her eyes.

"I must apologize Hina . . . But it must be very different for your people, isn't it?"

The Shaman scowled. "My _Sisters_ are not familiar with strange rituals and Sisters blossoming into Aberrant forms. Nor are they familiar with the aberrant ideas that those Sisters bring with them." Hina took another deep sip of her tea the bitterness almost too much, even for her, before carefully setting the empty bowl down, rotating it again one quarter and bowing politely, first to the bowl and then to Florine. "And their happiness must also be considered. I am Eldest Sister, I can make them do as I ask for Rose's sake, but I can see how it will make them feel. If they had time, I'm sure I can make them understand." After all, they had simply not seen such things for themselves, once the other Shamans saw that it would do no harm they would come around as she had. "But until then, Rose is miserable and unfulfilled and the rest of my Sisters are acting like it's the peak of Sayuri's reign."

Florine's lips thinned at the reminder of Sayuri and the fact that not so long ago they had been enemies and then turned her attention back to the Garden. Off some ways near the ruin of the Garden's center, Euphrasie crouched, helping some of the Shamans and Sisters to move stones to form a small reservoir pond. The girl stood up, wiping her hands on the front of her dress and waved in her mother's direction, Florine smiled and waved back.

"I didn't mean any offense, Hinagiku." Florine's hand fell back to her side and she gave the Shaman a sympathetic look. "But maybe if Rose isn't happy here, she should be allowed to look elsewhere."

"What? No!" Hina jumped to her feet. "Rose is still a Sister of our Garden, I would _never_ send her away!"

"I'm not suggesting that she be banished, Hina." Florine said gently. "But she is a young girl who has grown restless. If she were a human girl, I would say she should be wed so that she could settle down."

"If only it were that simple." Hina grumbled, politely ignoring the implications of Florine's comment. "She loves her Sisters, but she can be impatient with them . . . The only thing she has a passion for are Arthur's books and her numbers. If I didn't know better, I'd think she was half a Faerie!" Though what sort of Faerie she took after Hina could hardly fathom.

"Oh?" Florine's brows rose.

"Yes, it's exactly . . . Oh." Hina stopped. "Oh my . . . that . . . would she?"

"Is there something wrong Hina?"

"N-No . . . Not wrong, nothing at all is wrong." The Shaman carefully wrung her hands together. "Excuse me, Florine-san, I just realized something." Standing straight so that she could offer a deep bow. "Thank you!" Gossamer moth wings fluttered, carrying her into the air. That just might be it.

If Rose didn't belong in the Garden anymore, then maybe it was because she belonged someplace _else_.


	29. Chapter 7 Part 1: In Which a Cat Spies

Halkegenia Online v3 – Chapter 7 – Part 1

The waiting was nearly over. She was almost ready, Shiori thought as her feet dangled off the edge of her perch, just one twig of a branch among the Harbor Tree's crown. In the dark of the night, tucked away far from the inviting lights of the ship's cradles in the higher branches, no one had noticed her, and nobody would.

The dim streets of Kingston on Hull spread out below her like an Escher hedge maze, beneath one of her anyways. Mahou Shiori tilted her head, eyes focusing on a particular building that stood almost directly underneath her. Barnard was supposed to be arriving shortly, but her sword and dagger selves weren't in position just yet.

Mahou Shiori clicked her tongue in disapproval.

'Gotta pick it up.' She thought as she ran through just how she expected things to go one last time. The warehouse wasn't anything special, no special security measures except for a suspicious number of burly looking porters still hanging around after closing time.

Just a large, timber framed building sat on stone foundations with a stone first floor, and surrounded on three sides by a walled courtyard where cargo could be lowered or lifted by means of the sky cranes that wound their way on iron rails through the branches of the Harbor Tree.

It belonged to one of the big trading houses, Shiori had discovered by quietly sitting on a bench outside and listening over the course of the day to the conversations of the men who came and went, a merchant guild that traded in luxuries. They'd done very well for themselves despite the war, though she found herself not caring very much at that moment.

Three brains and what was _maybe_ one mind made for some very vivid idle thoughts. Thoughts on what she was about to do, and how it was _more_ than just what she was about to do.

Maybe Faeries had better memories than humans, something in their heads had to be different to account for their senses and powers of flight after all, a human didn't have magical limbs they could just command to do as they pleased. If they were all faster and stronger and had superpowers now, why not better memories?

Or maybe it was because she saw the world through three bodies with three brains so everything she experienced was remembered three times. Either way, Shiori had found that she could perfectly recall the faces and tally of every person she'd killed, the ones she'd ended face to face anyways.

Of course, there had been others too, the crews of the patrol boats that had been swatted in the _Bounty's _explosion, but she'd never seen them, just a pair of warships at sail that were going to come up alongside and board, and _find_ her if she didn't run when she did.

Seven in Tristain, the bandits she'd found after becoming what she was now, eighteen on the Brimir's bounty, sailors who she couldn't let live, and eight more in Albion when she'd gone _looking_ for trouble rather than just stumbling into it. Thirty two, that was the number of lives she'd taken personally, without a shred of remorse, or at least, she told herself that it was without of remorse, she didn't know if it was better if it was or it wasn't.

An uneasy feeling derailed her thoughts, Sword Shiori looked all around as she made her way in the dark of an abandoned back alley. She'd shed her traveling clothes and her assumed manhood for the equipment she'd retrieved from the countryside earlier that day. It was a risk to be moving around like this inside the city, but the area was nearly abandoned in the dark, and she'd thought better of wasting her human disguise if she was spotted. The same was true for dagger Shiori who was making her way silently along the west facing side of the roofs to stay out of the moonslight.

One thing that was as clear as the faces in her minds' eye was that she hadn't hesitated on any of those occasions. She'd just lashed out with certainty. First it had been anger, hot rage that had exploded through all three of her like firecrackers and the heady rush of righteousness like a drug. Then it had been out of simple pragmatism, a coldly calculated survival strategy, and finally cold convenience.

And now she was singling out just _one_ person to kill. She'd spent time learning who he was, and why he was important, and now she was here to end him. Heartbeat sped up and Shiori couldn't help it as her pupils widened and her breath shortened, her blood buzzing in anticipation. She'd been thinking about him all day, an unwholesome 'crush', more or less.

At least, she calmed herself. She would only be killing _one_ person tonight. Okay, probably a couple of people, but indiscriminate slaughter wasn't her purpose here. Most of the men in the building would walk out with their lives, probably.

They'd reached their destination. Sword Shiori looked up at the stone wall that enclosed the rear courtyard while Mahou and Dagger Shiori studied the lay of the warehouse and its grounds from the sky. There were half a dozen men outside and she guessed about the same number inside the warehouse itself, milling around, mostly in the main courtyard, but a few had gone as far as climbing up onto the wall and roofs to stand watch.

Dagger Shiori's dark adjusted eyes picked them out one by one and identified each in turn. Class meant a lot to people, girls in the latest designer clothes, and men in expensive suits. What was true in Japan was true here. Whatever, if it made her job easier she wasn't going to complain. 'Commoner, commoner, mage, commoner, mage.'

She counted four commoners and two mages, and that was just the one's standing outside, there were still the others inside to worry about, along with whatever Barnard was bringing, because she couldn't imagine that the man who ran the whole city would be coming all by himself. If he didn't have plenty of guards along to keep him safe, Shiori would bite off her own tails.

'I'm not going to see what else is waiting until I get inside.' And waiting much longer would mean even more security.

It would have been nice to have slipped inside sooner, the plan had originally been to sneak inside during the last shift and find a comfy hiding place, but the sun had still been up, and these guys had been waiting around since then. Shiori had been hoping for a break in their rotations, but that wasn't going to happen either.

Time to get started.

Dagger Shiori crouched in the dark, placing her hands palms down on the roof in front of her, coiling up her legs and arching her back as she tensed from shoulders to tail and then down legs, weight resting forward on the balls of her feet. She'd gotten a feel for it by now, the athleticism that was a product of her agility and speed stats, and she'd wondered a few times since being reborn in these bodies if this was maybe like what being a cat actually felt like, small, but also strong, purged of everything that was needless.

Sword Shiori scanned her surroundings, and finding an accessible looking eave and balcony, ascended up to the roof as silent as a whisper so that she was crouched in the shelter of a chimney on the side of the warehouse opposite Dagger Shiori.

Mahou Shiori gave the surroundings one last sweep from her vantage, still no sign of Barnard.

'Let's do this.'

And then the blood and adrenaline went rushing in as Shiori felt her body uncoiling smoothly, like a well-oiled spring, from butt to thighs to calves and then out through the balls of her feet as she surged noiselessly into a sprint. Fast, fast and light on her feet, the edge of the roof was hurrying to meet her and with a last chant, whispered under her breaths by Sword and Dagger Shiori, the stealth spell she'd prepared beforehand activated and the world grew both a little dimmer and a little more distant to her ears, her hands blurring into inky darkness in front of her.

The spell Hollow Body was available only to Faeries with excellent sneaking and Darkness magic abilities. It wasn't quite true invisibility, but it was close.

In the space between steps, the already indistinct shadows of Dagger and Sword Shiori vanished almost completely from sight. Maybe if someone was alert, and paying close attention at the right time, they'd catch a wrinkle in the air, or a blurred outline, or notice that their eyes began to water if they looked at the right place for too long. But that would hardly mean a thing at night. So long as she was careful and didn't draw attention, she was as good as invisible.

Sword Shiori reached the edge of her roof ahead of Dagger Shiori and launched herself into the air, tracing a shallow trajectory over the stone wall and into a suitably secluded spot behind the mule stables. Shiori landed in a roll, body tucking in to smoothly absorb the energy as if it was the most natural thing she'd ever done.

A few of the work animals stirred from their salt lick and vegetable filled dreams for just long enough to sniff the air and shake their heads sleepily. Shiori's hearts caught and Dagger Shiori almost missed her jump. One animal in particular seemed to lift its head, long lashed eye pointing right at the wraith of a Faerie, but then, very slowly, the head dropped back down, settling comfortable on a bed of straw.

Mahou Shiori breathed a sigh for her Sword body as she dashed from shadow to shadow along the courtyard, only moving when the attention of the hired muscle was elsewhere, until she was safely situated out of sight behind a second outbuilding, what appeared to be a single floor clerical office. Sword Shiori settled down, closing her eyes, and opening her ears to listen while Dagger Shiori moved onward with the mission.

Her other self had landed lightly on the top of the wall, so silently that she didn't even draw a glance from the men walking by beneath her, and barely losing any speed at all before changing direction to light on the first floor roof of the warehouse. Wasting no time, she scampered up higher to grab hold of the eaves of the main roof and with the last of her built up momentum, swung up through an open ventilation window.

Hooking her legs on the window frame, the Cait crunched into a ball, hands grabbing hold to steady herself, before eyes picked out a promising beam and, like a gymnast performing a flawless dismount, carried through to land among the rafters of the warehouse roof.

Her motion exhausted, only when Shiori came to a full rest, and she was certain she hadn't been spotted, did she allow herself the luxury of shivering on the buzz of adrenaline flooding her veins, a rush that was unlike anything she'd ever experienced in her past life. Like most things these days, she'd been getting used to it more and more lately, more or less.

Now then, Dagger Shiori shrugged her shoulders, loosening the tension that had built up in her short dash and settled onto all fours, tail stretching out straight behind her and swaying back and forth like a balance, to see what she could see. Surveying the high ceiling, she wasn't for want of hiding places. The roof was a maze of rafters, heavily reinforced to resist the freak winds that would occasionally strike over the edge of the cliffs.

Quiet as a cat, Shiori picked her path, taking hold of beams as she stretched and squirmed and crept her way out over the center of the room where magelights were concentrated on a half dozen crates and the men supervising them. It was only five in here, two commoners and three mages. The man who made the fifth, the one who had met with Barnard's secretary, was conferring with the two other merchants and one of the commoners, a real giant of a man who looked like he'd been born to beat people to death.

"Will he be here?" One of the older mages asked the man from the tavern.

"He'll be here, I assure you sir." The merchant said. The way he shifted from one foot to the other did nothing to disguise his unease." Mister Barnard keeps a very tight schedule."

"I should hope you are correct Greaves." The first speaker said. "I assume you've heard about the latest round of hangings."

"The executions today?" 'Greaves' grimaced, resting hands atop the lid of one of the crates. "I've heard."

"And?"

"I wish I hadn't." Greaves muttered.

"Our Dear Governor appears to be finding quite a few Royal sympathizers in our fair city as of late, wouldn't you agree?" The nobles looked among themselves quietly and Shiori didn't find it hard at all to guess what they were thinking. "There've been quite a few traitors lately, all very reasonably accused of course."

Greaves declined to speak a word.

The old mage crossed his arms, either asserting himself of warding off the chill air that infiltrated the wooden structure. It was getting to Shiori too as she tugged her cloak closer around herself and wandered if a heating charm might not have been a better choice than invisibility. "It is becoming quite a bit more costly to court Mister Barnard with each passing day. I do think it is time that we begin distancing ourselves from this client."

Greaves sighed softly, the man didn't look very old, Shiori couldn't be sure, but mages seemed to stay pretty well preserved on the whole, but suddenly he seemed absolutely ancient. "Parting ways could be costly."

"Staying in ill company could be more so." The older man said. "We'll see our business concluded here, then I suggest we focus our efforts on a city with fairer winds."

"As you say, sir." Greaves bowed his head.

Shiori didn't hear what he said next, or rather, she didn't bother to think much of it as the focus of her consciousness shifted elsewhere to look through the eyes of Mahou Shiori and watch the approaching carriage and its escort of horsemen winding their way through port streets.

Guessing was unneeded as a short whistle pierced the night air, the guards standing watch reporting the new arrival.

The clashing of iron shod hooves grew loud in Sword Shiori's ears as the carriage and its escort drew up through the gate. Leading the way were four mage's in cuirass armor and riding black chargers that looked ever so slightly too big to have been entirely naturally bred, the horses spread through the courtyard, jets of steam puffing from their nostrils as riders took up watch as the carriage entered.

'Someone knows that they aren't liked.' Sword Shiori wrinkled her nose at the vehicle that had just been pulled through the gates. It was hideous for one, a rolling slab of iron and hardwood so heavy that it had been mounted on heavy wagon wheels, like somebody in this world had decided to build a horse drawn armored car.

Even the coachmen were nowhere in sight, hidden behind a slitted viewing port at the front of the contraption.

In fact, Shiori had to wonder how the pair of horses had managed to pull the thing until she realized that unlike those ridden by the guards. The yoked pair of animals had grown completely still, not even a sign of breath to show that they were alive. Golems. The Governor of Kingston sure had expensive, and paranoid, tastes.

The whistling had alerted the men waiting inside. The merchants were hurrying out to meet their arriving customer, leaving the crates guarded only by the giant and the rest of the commoners. It was tempting to sneak a peek at just what the Governor of Kingston could want that would justify this sort of clandestine meeting, but she was bound to find out before her opportunity came so she stilled herself and fought to remain patient.

The muscle brought by the merchants gave the carriage a wide berth as one of the Guards dismounted his horse and approached. His uniform and the insignia on his shoulder matched the ones worn by the Guards Shiori had seen at the gates. Some sort of an elite branch of the city watch, which meant they were probably veteran soldiers too.

And if they were veterans, then she needed to mind herself carefully, Hollow Body was not perfect invisibility, she could be seen if she got sloppy, and once somebody 'saw' her, the illusion's effects on them would be broken.

High overhead, Mahou Shiori began to softly chant a spell that would replace the one she was holding in reserve, just in case.

The guard took hold of the handle of the carriage door and pulled. Hinges creaked as the armored hardwood swung out of the way and gave access to the dimly lit interior. The first to step out into the moonslight was a man that Shiori had already seen one before, Patrick Geordy, the ash blonde man straightening his jacket before offering a hand to his master.

"Governor Barnard." Greaves and other merchants were making their way out from barely parted doors of the warehouse, Greaves pulling his jacket close while the other two older men kept themselves bundled in their coats. "It is our great honor to have your patronage tonight."

Shiori gave the man credit. He was a pretty good liar when it came right down to it. For a guy who looked like he wanted to piss his pants anyways.

The greeting was returned a moment later as the Governor of Kingston stepped down with the help of his aid, one paper white hand taken carefully by Geordy and squeezed as a bleakly dressed man revealed himself and Shiori was given reason to pause.

Learning about Dorian Barnard had not been a difficult thing, in the abstract that was. People tended to pay attention to people who could order them beheaded and that was the least of Barnard's powers as Governor of Kingston. What people hadn't thought to mention, or maybe she just hadn't thought to ask, were the exact details of the Governor's appearance.

"And my great pleasure to have you at my service, Mister Greaves, Monsieur Blanc, Monsieur Gudrun." Dorian Barnard spoke in a soft voice as he steadied himself with the help of his aid.

Bone thin, Shiori could see the swell of his wrists visible in the gap between his gloves and sleeves. Long hair that might have been brown if it hadn't been so slicked with grease, was pulled into a short ponytail and the combination of its thinness and the more general thinness of the man it was growing on created an impression of an immensely swollen head, a size too big for his body with skin pulled tightly over skull, gaunt cheeks, and dark, sunken eyes.

For a second Shiori wandered if she hadn't hit the jackpot, because there was no way he couldn't have been dead and brought back to life. On second thought, she doubted anybody would bother bringing back a corpse that would be _that _obvious.

His thin frame was dressed plainly for a nobleman, gray trousers and blood red blouse under dark jacket. His boots, Shiori noted, were made for riding and a silver pendant hung out of place from his neck.

This was Dorian Barnard. The master of Kingston. The man she was going to kill.

But first, she needed him for something else, the whole reason she was here after all was to learn what was inside his head. Barnard's palatial home in the wealthy quarter of the city was a fortress after all and she doubted very much she could have made it to him, much less given them a moment alone. Here, things were different, only a handful of guards, more than half of who were commoners and not even expecting a fight.

But in some ways, it was even more dangerous. This was where planning gave way to improvisation. There was no way to tell what exactly was going to happen next. So she'd watch and wait for her opening, and when it came, she'd take it.

Barnard scanned the courtyard, his features contorting into a frown. "Now then Mister Greaves, let us conclude this business. I've no stomach for this cold."

"As you wish, Governor. Everything is prepared." Greaves bowed deeply and gestured in the direction of the warehouse. Two of Barnard's guards and his secretary followed after him, leaving the carriage and its Golem horses under the watch of the remaining two and the hired muscle brought by the merchants.

Shiori kept her Sword self where she was, there was no need to move when her Dagger self was already waiting.

"Governor Barnard." The commoner guards inside the warehouse bowed deeply at Barnard's arrival, and Shiori had to wander if it was simple respect for the power of a mage or if there wasn't just a small hint of fear in particular towards the man in front of them.

Barnard raised his right hand only minutely, gesturing for his guards to send them off, the mages moving to shew them from his sight like pests. "Bothersome that you need these sorts of people, Greaves." Barnard said as he glanced upon the crates awaiting inspection, all lined up neatly. "Geordy."

"Sir." The mage at Barnard's side extracted his wand from his jacket and held the focus over his head. The chant was just gibberish spoken under his breath to Shiori, but even so, she could see the air growing heavy, the fine hairs one her arms and neck standing on edge. The next words spoken sounded thin and attenuated, barely rising above a whisper that she had to strain to catch.

'Shit.' Though, what had she expected from a clandestine meeting? Barnard was hardly lazy at least. Good, a competent mark probably knew things. Still, 'I should have bummed some equipment off Alicia.' There were a few observation items that could have come in handy about now, though like almost every disposable inventory item, short range Resonance Crystals were in very limited supply with only a tiny number making the transition and even fewer players possessing the exact combination of skills to produce them.

But she'd make the best of it, no point in missing what she didn't have, rising back up, balancing carefully with the aid of her tail, Dagger Shiori tiptoed her way through the rafters, ears on the lookout for the tiniest noise, the smallest -creak- that might reveal her position. These spells, she'd heard, had a dome-like area of effect. If she could get inside of that she'd have no trouble making out what was being said.

And . . .

"I assure you Governor, these are of the highest quality." Greaves was wiping his brow now as Barnard inspected the contents. Not that Shiori cared too much, but well . . . she was part _cat_ now. Careful to keep her balance, the Cait leaned her Dagger body out over the empty space, looking down from high up over the shoulder of the Governor.

The interior of the crate reminded her a bit of an old container she'd seen once when Akira had visited his grandparents one summer. As a bored kid stuck out in the country with nothing more than a crappy 5G connection and his phone to keep in touch with the 'real world'.

His grandfather had said it had been used for soft drinks back when they came in glass so that the bottles would be protected. The inside of the crate was subdivided around a dozen times lengthwise and half that many width wise, forming a little over seventy little square cells that appeared to also be stacked at least a dozen deep.

Barnard was examining the contents of one of the cells when, without prompting, he reached down to remove what appeared to Shiori to be an egg made out of glass, or maybe very clear ice. The Governor of Kingston held the ovoid against the light of one of the mage-lamps and squinted through the surface which seemed to lens and ripple like a mirage. His lips parted in a smile.

"Wonderful purity, Monsieur Blanc. No silicate leaching. Well worth the money."

"So pure that they were considered the sole resource of the Royal House of Tudor. How your associates ever learned of their stockpiles I do not know and suppose do not _want_ to know." The graying man who had been called Blanc said, his voice slowly rising. "I shouldn't have to remind you how the powers that be might feel about these falling into anyone's hands but their own."

Barnard only appeared to be half listening as he answered. "Monsieur Blanc, you speak of rules that apply to _other_ people."

"Some of us here aren't other people." Blanc growled and elicited worried looks from Greaves and Gudrun, the other merchants looked torn between gagging him or begging forgiveness from the Governor.

"Evrett . . ." Gudrun grabbed the other man by the elbow only to be shrugged off.

"You could fly a First Rater for _year_ on those nonstop." Blanc said with an air of conspiracy. "Or a fleet of First and Second Rates for a Campaign. Possession could be seen as tantamount to plans of rebellion."

That at last put an icy end to Barnard's smile, the Governor raising a brow archly as he turned his attention fully on Blanc. Whatever courage had caused the man to speak, shriveled now under the weight of his employer's glare.

"Let me make this clear to you, Monsieur Blanc, I do not need your opinions on matters, I require only your cooperation, your resources, and your confidentiality as an intermediary. If you cannot provide all three then I shall have no more use of you. And you will soon find that certain rules that do not apply to me . . ." A ghost of Barnard's smile returned " . . . Most definitely apply to _you_. Or have you forgotten that none of this was ever approved by the authorities. I'll remind you that you liked the money when you didn't have to pay tariffs."

Entrapment, Shiori mused, watching as all three merchants paled. If Barnard hadn't been such a key player in Reconquista, she'd could have respected that sort of cold blooded double cross.

Blanc and Gudrun turned their attention to Greaves who more and more was looking like the man who'd gotten them into this mess. "But . . ."

"Quiet Lad." Gudrun raised a meaty hand held wide and sighed heavily. He seemed to be the level heady among the three, settling with a resigned expression as he turned back to Governor Barnard. "How much then, Governor, to lift this albatross from our necks?"

"Shrewd as always, Monsieur Gudrun." Barnard's expression grew less hostile. "Take heart, you'll profit well from this, and gain favor with the Good Lord Cromwell besides. Our Lord is in need of men who can supply what he requires in these turbulent times. We will require the use of as many of your ships and caravans as you can make ready post haste."

All three men stiffened together. "Trade Caravans? Overland then?"

"And by air as well." Barnard said. "It matters little. They'll all be bound for Londinium."

Faced with a lousy deal, the three came to the same conclusion. "Cargo?" Blanc asked.

"Nothing particularly arduous, simply some valuable symbols of the old regime being returned to their rightful place. Weight of a few dozen stone apiece, and of course, their guards." Barnard waved his hand vaguely as if this was all the explanation that was needed. "I'm sure you can arrange for the journey by the day after next."

"Gudrun?" Blanc glanced to the other senior merchant.

"Aye." He ran hands through a thick beard. "It can be done, though it'll be a short turn around on the _Bella Luna._"

"Able will want the work." Blanc insisted, not looking at Barnard at all, he added. "With this we'll wash our hands I presume?"

"Not only that, it will prove your loyalty in the eyes of the Good Lord Cromwell. You will have nothing else to fear, I assure you." Barnard's smile could almost have been called beneficent, Shiori thought, if hadn't just been showing off how much of a snake he really was.

"Then we can be ready." Blanc said after some contemplation.

Barnard clapped his hands together. "Marvelous! Captain Vilby." The Governor waved one of his men back within the shelter of the silencing spell. "Sir?"

"Please see to it that the cargo is moved to my residence at once, the cellar with these ones. That will be all, thank you."

The Guard Saluted. "Sir!"

"I do believe this concludes our business for now, Mister Greaves, Monsieur Blanc, Monsieur Gudrun. Let us have a drink when next we meet to commemorate a successful partnership." The merchant's nodded slowly, if they were thinking like her Shiori suspected they'd expect their drinks to be poisoned.

"Geordy." Barnard turned on his heel and made back for the warehouse door, Shiori following through the rafters. The bubble must have worked both ways, because as soon Barnard and his secretary left its area, the Governor was talking again.

"Now as you were saying, all of the arrangements have been made. Correct? The source is reliable?"

"We've gott'im, Sir." Geordy said quietly. "We know where Greer sleeps."

The Governor stopped in his tracks, his lips peeled back in a vicious grin. "That man has been a thorn to me and the Good Lord Cromwell for too long. Bastard that he is, it should have been me to take our Father's title. Not that . . . _disinherited._" The last word spat out with so much venom it impressed even the spiteful soul of Shirotaka Akira. But unlike Akira, that anger cooled quickly, the Governor ran a hand through his thin hair. "I want his _head_ tonight Geordy. On a _stick._"

The secretary nodded as he returned his wand to his coat and touched his hand to a glittering hilt half hidden at his side. "With pleasure."

"Get it done. I want know blights when I leave for business in Londinium." Barnard continued on his way out, now alone, he was returning to his carriage, Shiori realized, alone. And with that, she saw the opportunity she'd been waiting for.

Sword Shiori had not been idle while Barnard saw to his business, she'd crept her way far enough through the shadows to inspect the carriage, and having done so, she'd come across an interesting fact. The coachmen . . . there were no coachmen. Which made a degree of sense if the horses were golems, after all, if Barnard just had to give them instructions directly, why even bother with a driver.

Which meant he'd be alone on the trip back, more or less. Well . . . less . . . Shiori thought as sword Shiroi crept towards the still open coach door and crawled silently up into the pitch black within, the smell of leather and brandy assaulting her senses. She ignored them as she lifted herself up into the overhead luggage she'd spied and pulled her cloak tightly around herself.

It wasn't long before the carriage rocked on its suspension, Barnard settling heavily on the seat beneath her.

Leaning forward, the Governor kicked the front wall of the carriage and shouted. "Aye, back home you stupid lumps of brass!"

A moment's pause before the Golem horses jerked to life, the Wagon beginning to rock as they set off. Two of the Guards follow while two more remained behind. Barnard probably felt safe with just two soldiers in the heart of his own city. Idiot.

Dagger Shiori was moving to follow across the roofs now while Mahou Shiori stood slowly and began to tightrope walk back along the stiff branch. She'd meet back up with her other selves shortly. In the meantime, it was quite a ways though the winding streets back to Barnard's abode, she'd have plenty of time to get what she wanted.


	30. Chapter 7 Part 2: A Cat Burgles

Halkegenia Online – Chapter 7 – Part 2

Even by the standards of the nobility, the Governor of Kingston had expensive tastes. Matilda, ex Lady Saxe Gotha, thought as she wondered his halls without so much as an eye cast in her direction, she might as well have been under a spell of invisibility herself for all anyone around her cared, and she was after a fashion, albeit it was one much more mundane than any spell known by the mages of the Academy, all the better to go unnoticed as she observed.

Richly woven rugs that her trained eye told her had come from as far as the Rub al Khali desert, expensively dyed curtains, crystal chandeliers, and warm, cherry wood paneling where the smooth white stone of the building was not left exposes in its stark grace. And this was just one of five floors of the main building, not counting the cellars.

The thief's appraiser's eye was already composing a tally out of hand.

Matilda was no stranger to the homes of the Nobility, as a thief, and also as a disinherited child of that nobility herself. Kind and charitable as her mother and father had been, they had not been above the Noble tendencies to display their wealth, and Matilda had for a time grown up in a luxuriously appointed manor, wanting for nothing.

That idiot girl who knew nothing of how the world really worked was long gone, and now Matilda slipped through Noble homes as an intruder rather than a guest. The difference was like two sides of the same coin.

There were so many things she hadn't seen as a girl, and hadn't yet had the awareness to question at that time. Nobles wished for their homes to display their affluence, they equally wished to maintain an appearance of stately, unhurried grace.

Never had Matilda as a child seen the maids and valets coming and going. She'd known that they saw to the house, made the beds, cooked, and kept the gardens. But never had she caught them anyplace else but at their work. There had been times when her childhood home had felt positively lonely because of it. For the longest time, before she had understood the difference between those who were with and those who were without magic, she had simply assumed that it was some sort of spell that they used.

The truth was both less magical and at the same time far more mystical. There were two worlds inside a Noble house, the world of the owners and the world of the servants. Hidden passages and paneled doors, dumbwaiters, recessed closets, and carefully planned rotations so as to keep the work from sight of the family and their guests.

In reality, a Noble house was far more _crowded_ than Matilda had ever imagined. Dozens of servants, cooks, gardeners, maids, and stable hands, going about their business, and so far beneath notice that they might as well not even exist when they were not needed.

Which suited her perfectly at a time like this. Why sneak about when she could walk right in? A spare uniform pilfered from the laundry, some dyes to change her hair from green to black, a pin to tie it up in a tight bun, and Matilda was transformed into just another of the maids. Even the other servants more or less ignored her, assuming she was a problem for somebody else.

It probably helped that she was moving quite confidently, as if she knew exactly where she was going. Plans of the residence had not been easy to come by, or so Greer had claimed, but he had managed to procure them nonetheless, and Matilda had devoured their contents, studied them until she could almost have walked the house blind.

She didn't know the full extent of Greer's resources, but if she'd had any doubt they were less than impressive, they had been laid to rest now. Men like Greer tended to only grow more powerful until the day they died, collecting favors, blackmail, and dirty tricks all the while. The smuggler had come through with what she had required, as promised, when 'Foquet' had accepted this job.

Which likewise meant she could likely trust him to be able to carry through with the rest of their bargain. So long as she held up her part.

"Hoy you, gel!"

The voice at her back was a like an accusation and Matilda immediately felt her palms start to itch within her servant's gloves, a distinct urge to reach for the wand tucked into her bodice overcame her. She did no such thing as she recognized the high-strung, almost shrill voice for what it was.

Turning on her heels, Matilda draped her skirts and bowed her head respectfully to the older woman, iron hair done up tightly in a no nonsense bun much like Matilda's own at present, and face very much unamused.

She was familiar with this type of woman, helped along by the fact that there was only really _one_ of her who happened to be found everywhere in the continent, same gray hair, same no nonsense dress that didn't quite fit a body that had lost its youthful figure and gone lumpy with age, same pinkish complexion that might once have been lovely, and same thin lips that so easily perpetuated a frown.

It was a story that had repeated countless times. The questions were the same as well.

"Gel, where's Diana?"

The head maid squinted at her as if trying to decide if Matilda might in fact be the person she was looking for. This sort of woman rarely paid that much attention to the girls under her, the shriveled up husk of a once pretty young serving girl who had come to the city decades ago, now bitter and unhappy and devoted to spreading that bitterness and unhappiness to everyone around her.

"I haven't the foggiest Ma'am. I heard the cooks speaking in passing to the guard sergeant, their supper is late. Perhaps she was sent to take it to them." Matilda supplied, keeping her head down as she answered vaguely. Truthfully she had no idea who Diana was and didn't much care other than the vague hope that would not happen by. "May I be of service?"

The woman looked her over, suspiciously and perhaps with a little envy coming face to face with a much younger woman, sniffing in disdain. "I haven't seen you about. I'm sure I'd know . . ."

"I'm a new hire Ma'am." Matilda said automatically. The thief looked out from the corner of each eye and calmly confirmed that they were alone in the narrow stretch of hallway, just in case things became . . . difficult . . . to explain.

The head maid snorted again. "More of you country shrews, and not even a word to me about it." Matilda pointedly did not resist as a hand clamped around her wrist and she was pulled along. The head maid muttered more curses under her breath, and then numbers as she counted wall mounted lamps before coming to a halt before a piece of wall paneling that appeared no different than any of the others.

Adjusting her cap, the maid planted a palm firmly against a seam between two fixtures and pushed. The wall gave way with a small -click- and -creak- of hinges, the hidden door opening into an alcove that cut between halls, housing a narrow table and cupboard. A trolley sat on small iron wheels.

"At least tell me you're familiar with the run of the place. Mister Geordy at least made sure you were trained now, didn't he?"

"Y-yes Ma'am." Matilda added a little stutter to affect the appropriate impression of fear.

"Then you know you are forbidden from the master's study and the cellars. If ever you are directed to get a thing from either you are to ask the guards to retrieve them."

"Yes Ma'am."

"Do not speak in the Master's presence, even to the other servants, anything you have to say can wait for him to pass." The head maid sounded disinterested as she prattled about the abuses Matilda should expect to endure without complaint. Beatings if she did not comply or was too slow, nights without dinner if her performance faltered, she was contracted to the Barnard family now and should be_grateful_ to be employed here where it was safe.

None of it applied to her in truth, still Matilda seethed at every word.

"Now then, the Master is expecting to entertain guests later this evening. The table will need to be set, third floor, East corner. It should be Diana's responsibility . . ." The maid clicked her tongue. "You can start there." Matilda found her hands being placed on the handles of the trolley while the head maid loaded a tray with glasses, candles, and sealed bottles. "Come find me in the kitchens when you're done and we'll be sure you made a proper job of it. Now off with you!"

"Yes Ma'am."

Matilda kept her tongue as she was sent on her way, pushing the trolley silently over heavy rugs, bemused by her luck. It turned out to be convenient anyway, once she got out of sight of the head maid and could change her course. It was unlikely that anyone would have stopped to question her before. The chances now that she very obviously had someplace to be were incalculably less.

East corner, third floor. Matilda's mental map unfolded in her mind's eye and compared to where she needed to be. It would get her close enough. With a smile, she picked up the pace.

Guards and serving staff passed her by without a second glance until Matilda reached the high doors to the eastern wing, a three story addition that jutted out from the original house, its top floor decorated in row after row of floor to ceiling windows. Those windows were flanked by artifacts, samples of Barnard's extensive collection presented here to impress guests.

Self-Operating Golems of exquisite workmanship, carrying out pantomimed acts in endless repetition, fine tapestries of spun silver and gold, countless paintings and sculptures, each worth a fair fortune in itself, but none of it compared to what the Governor of Kingston kept locked away in his vault. This was merely what Barnard was willing to lay out in the open.

It did once again beg the question, which she had pointedly refused to ask. Barnard had an excellent eye for finding treasures. Matilda couldn't imagine he'd be investing so much effort in acquiring Mister Greer's Heel Stone if it wasn't more than it appeared.

Just what magic was he after?

The thought was cut short as she neared an intersection and veered off from her original course, discarding the trolley in the first alcove where it would go unnoticed. Her destination was on the floor below by way of a servant's staircase, a guest bedroom that had been subtly marked by a piece of red string tied around its handle. Matilda had the key, provided by Greer's man on the inside.

The room itself didn't much matter to her. It could have been a broom closet for all she cared. What was important was that what she had asked for was waiting on the bed.

In the pecking order of a noble house, Guards were a level up from the serving staff and received commensurately more scrutiny. But a guard was also the only person who would not rouse suspicion where Matilda needed to go.

Unlacing her bodice and shrugging her dress from her shoulders, the thief picked up the uniform she had requested and began to change. She'd been vague about sizes lest she give too much away, the pants and belt were too big until she punched new holes, and the shirt hung loose on her shoulders, though padded by vest and jacket it manage to be presentable enough. The helmet was a blessing, hiding her hair, and along with some carefully applied makeup, went a long ways towards hiding the woman beneath the uniform.

Matilda was just making a few last minute adjustments when there came a knocking at the door.

The man outside was dressed in the same uniform that she now wore, albeit cut a half dozen sizes larger, shoulders so broad he'd have narrowly fit through the bedroom door, and judging by the way he was trying to keep watch in both directions at once, she presumed that this was one of Greer's men. But of course, she had to be sure.

"Excuse me Sir, could I beg your pardon for the time?" Matilda asked.

"Time? Time is seven and thirty, and we've got until eight before me and my mates are missed on patrol."

Which was no problem of hers. If everything went according to plan, they'd be done in twenty minutes.

He finally stopped checking for eavesdroppers to give her a good once over. "You're ready I should hope?"

"As ever." Matilda sighed. "Shall we get started?"

"Come on then." The conspirator turned and set off with a thud of heavy boots on thick carpet. Foquet only had to listen to hear the footfalls of two more men falling in beside her as they walked, hiding a tree among the forest as it were. A lone stranger might draw attention, but among three familiar faces, the forth might be paid no mind, and not even be noticed as unfamiliar.

None of the trio breathed a word to her as they made their way down flights of steps to the first floor and the cellars below. Matilda couldn't say just why they were doing this, if they were accepting Greer's money, or if the smuggler had some other leverage over them. Whatever it was, they kept their thoughts to themselves as Matilda did her own.

A fourth guard was waiting for them on the first floor, younger than the others, and appearing more nervous. The man who had come for Matilda nodded as he approached. "Any changes?"

"Not a one, Sir. There are four mages on watch. Johns and his men." The sentry reported.

"Good, the watch rotation hasn't been changed then . . . Mister Foquet?"

Matilda had stopped to press her hand again the wall, no seams, the stone work here had been reinforced with magic very recently. That could just mean some mending work, she hoped. "Mmm . . . Nothing." Matilda said. "I'll follow your lead, Good Sir."

The guard gave a small grunt and pointed to the sentry to keep his post before starting down the stairs. Another package was awaiting them at the foot of the steps, four cheap cloaks and handkerchiefs, flimsy disguises, but adequate to protect their identities if spied by chance.

The Governor's mansion had shown extensive cellars on the building plans. It was only through Greer that she had learned that they were even bigger than what was reported in the official document, including rooms that not even Greer knew the contents of, and a heavily reinforced vault.

Greer's men had been as far as the vault on watch rotation, but it had been beyond them to pry the accursed thing open, certainly not without being heard or tripping some private alarm of the Governors. But that was the beauty of what Matilda was about to do, it would hardly matter if the Governor discovered the break-in, in fact, she was counting on it to draw his attention while the sleight of hand was moved elsewhere.

The cellar was dark and cool, the timber ceiling low over even Matilda's head, demanding that the tallest of the men with her bow their heads or risk a firm whack from the beams. Floor to ceiling shelves were stacked with bottles of fine wine, the lower shelves filled with wooden casks. On the far side of the cellar was another narrow hall, this one lead to the vault which would be situated directly underneath the center of the mansion where it would be at the heart of a heavily reinforced foundation.

Someone stepped in between the flickering lantern light, one of the guards on watch, alerted by their footsteps. "Aye? Who goes . . ."

"Bosch." The Lead guard whispered and the man to Matilda's left burst into action, a wand appeared in his hand and the air all around Matilda grew suddenly heavy, noise attenuating to nothing in a dome of silence that left the Earth Mage's heartbeat thundering like the end of the world in her ears.

This was taken as a cue by the man on her right, a pair of flint strikes and two hempen sacks, each no bigger than a child's ball, were flung fast and hard. Matilda didn't hear the bang, but she certainly was forced to squeeze her eyes shut at the flash, and could only hope that the faint tremble had not reverberated far through the heavy stone above their heads.

The guards sprinted forward before the light had chance to fade, the silhouette who had stood in the hallway sunk to the floor as the Guard Leader drove a knee into his stomach and then his face, followed up by the faint -crack- -crack- as pistols were fired within the dampened sphere of air.

As fights went, it turned out to not be much of one, Matilda supposed as she allowed herself to catch up at an unhurried pace to peer down the short hall at the destruction. Her less than legal occupation had long ago numbed her to the necessity of violence. She could even appreciate the brutal efficiency when necessary.

It was all over in only a few short moments as the traitor Guards enjoyed the element of surprise and the shock of their alchemic bombs to beat the watching mages into submission before they could utter so much as a cantrip.

The Guard Leader was just finishing the last of the watching mages, knocking the man senseless with a well-aimed strike of a blackjack and allowing him to slump to the ground, maybe unconscious, possibly dead.

"Get them out of sight." The Guard Leader instructed,

"Here's to hoping nobody up there 'eard us." The man who had thrown the flash bombs grunted as he took one of the collapsed men under the arms and began to drag him into shadows.

"They didn't hear us." The man who had managed the spell replied. "I'm not that sloppy. Speaking of sloppy, why resort to these commoner methods at all?" He tapped the tow of his boot into the stomach of one of the men. It would have been over quieter with magic."

"Which is how we want them to think of it." Matilda explained patiently. "Why should they be looking among their own mage guards when it was clearly Foquet and some hired commoners?"

And they _would _know it was Foquet when she was through. That reputation had to be good for something after all. All part of the trick as it were.

"Now then, may I see to the vault?"

The Guard Leader gestured and Matilda took his invitation to examine the black iron door set into smoothly fused and magicly reinforced stone. Clicking her tongue, the Earth Mage drew her wand, tapped it once and squinted. She tapped again, sending a sounding through the mechanism.

"Mister Foquet . . ." The Guard Leader started.

"Working." Was all that Matilda thought to say. "Tumbler arrangement, three keys, seven tumblers apiece, combination, and . . . blood lock . . . Oh, so that's why."

"Pardon?"

"The Governor has this lock sealed by his own blood. It's the surest way to keep something that should remain locked, _locked_. It's not a problem."

Greer had been expecting this, now she knew the purpose of the package he'd left her, everything else she could break with finesse, or brute force, but she had a key to the most powerful lock.

Reaching for her belt, Matilda withdrew a pouch and poured the contents into her hand, a fine gray, talc-like substance, it was hard to shape earth this finely but pulverized pumice was a ready-made solution and had saved her on more than one occasion. Leaning down so that her eyes were level with the key holes she gently blew the fine dust into the mechanism and then raised her wand.

Wards could harden stone and make iron impermeable, but they could not stop the simple application of _force_ where appropriate. As a Triangle of Earth, Matilda could exert a rather great deal of force when the need took her.

Matilda's pumice worked its way into the mechanism, pushed against the tumblers until each was set, and then hardened into place, one by one, until all three locks were molded perfectly, and then a single heavy -clunk- as three locks turned over as one.

"Was that all?"

"Not quite." Matilda offered with small note of apology, pointing her wand at the top lock and barking a chant. The grinding of metal against metal rose to a fevered shriek and the Wind Mage at her back alternated between cursing and reinforcing the silenced shell of air he had cast around them. Last came a loud -clang- as the lock tore itself apart.

That left only the blood lock.

Matilda reached for the other item on her belt, the one given to her by Greer beforehand, 'just in case' as it was, now she knew what he wanted her to do with it.

The Guards all wrinkled their noses when they recognized what Matilda has just unwrapped, the linen pulling away from the desiccated remains of a finger, a middle finger, specially the left middle finger of the former Earl of Barnard. "A blood lock is rarely a perfect thing. It can usually be opened by close kin." Even if those kin happened to no longer be alive.

Greer really did want the Heel Stone back, if he'd even resorted to grave robbing.

Matilda took the dismembered remains and placed them to the last lock, her efforts were rewarded with a satisfying -creak- as the thick iron door swung fractionally on its hinges.

"A hand with this." Matilda stepped back to let the Guards drag the heavy door open and then lifted her wand to illuminate the interior. The thief in her could not help but crack a smile. This really _was _where Barnard had been keeping his valuables.

The vault interior was not large, perhaps five by five mails with a ceiling not much taller than the rest of the cellar. But those walls were stacked high with shelves, each containing a selection of items that glittered to Matilda's eyes. The fact that she would be leaving with some of them only made her more giddy.

But first, her attention turned to the object taking place of pride in the center of the confined cell, and what she saw, left the Earth Mage feeling strangely disappointed.

"This is it?" Matilda felt no need to offer flowery politeness.

Was this really what they were after? How pedestrian.

The Heel Stone. Its appearance suited its name, a hunk of gray white stone shaped into a stubby cylinder. Its surface weathered, its texture rough to the touch. Magic could hide itself in a great many ways, and a mage would be foolish not to keep that in mind, but save for the finely etched runes that ringed its surface, the grooved channels that formed them feeling smooth and polished as glass in contrast with the rest of its facing, there was nothing about the thing to indicate that it was more than a roughly cut piece of stone.

Even as an Earth Mage, Matilda couldn't sense anything innately magical about it, and 'detect magic' appeared to bear her out even as it lit the rest of the room like the sun.

Regardless, she'd never been paid to care if what the client wanted was worthless, and this time was no different. She set about circling the Heel stone, memorizing the rune's that had been inscribed on its surface. By now, the Guards had stopped muttering and asking about the time.

Closing her eyes while holding the image in her head, Matilda pointed her wand to the space beside the Heel Stone and began to chant.

The words were ancient, the language of elemental magic that had been given to humanity by blessing of the Founder, each word being the thing and the whole of the thing, or so it was told.

But mostly, Matilda just thought of the meaning of the words as they applied in the here and now. To form the image in her mind's eye. To shape with her own hands, the grains that were the essence of the bones of the Earth. Stone weathered by the eons, grayed by rain, and bleached by the sun. A pattern girdling its surface, ancient and indecipherable and spread before her like a parchment.

It was the details, the _details_, the smallest details that absorbed her, the roughness of one patch, the lightness of another, an eye watering pattern in the faintly disconcerting runes that seemed to fold back on themselves time after time after time until they vanished from sight.

Foquet had made forgeries before, but never this swiftly, and never with such concentration as to be to the exclusion of everything around her.

The thief was faintly surprised when a hand touched upon her shoulder, like she was being shaken awake from a dream.

"Huh?"

"I said you did good work." The Guard supplied, pointing to empty space that was now occupied by a second Heel Stone. "A fine bit of workmanship I should say."

Matilda agreed, not bad for having used the unwarded stone of the vault interior as her medium. Between the two, if she had not known which she had made, she would not have been able to tell them apart. Hopefully it would fool the Governor's eye as well.

"Now then, I do believe we should work quickly, Monsieur," Matilda beckoned to the wind mage, "Would you be so kind as to levi - . . ."

"We'll move it by hand." The Guard Leader said.

Matilda frowned. "By hand?"

"By hand." The man confirmed. "Those are Mister Greer's orders. The Heel Stone isn't to be touched by one grain of wind magic."

"I see then." Matilda reminded herself that it wasn't her problem, but that thinking too hard about it could make it her problem. "Then I'll allow you to do the rest. I shall be taking my pick of the Governor's other treasures."

Namely, two items in particular that had stood out to her, more for the fact that she had seen them before, or rather, their kin, and thus knew their great value on sight. The first sat atop a velvet box at the back of the room, a silver flute of simple and refined beauty. It was like something that she would give to her sister, if she hadn't known the dangers of playing a Hamlin Flute in the presence of children.

The instrument vanished into her jacket with nary a sound before her attention turned to the next item, a necklace hanging from a smoothly sculpted bust of rich sandal wood that glistened warmly in the pale light of her wand, the necklace was lovely, but the bust itself possessed an alluring power all its own, and only knowing what was influencing her allowed Matilda to ignore it.

The necklace was equally unadorned as the flute, save for a single blue gem no larger than a pea, shaped in the form of a blue tinged drop. A Water Spirit's tear was a valuable thing for the magic that it enabled. Baron Schenk von Glisben had gone to great efforts to obtain the tear that had been split to create the treasures he had given to woo over his fiancée.

Matilda reached behind the bust and undid the clasp, stepping away as the wood dried and weathered, losing its luster, the outline of the bust growing rough and haggard and marked with the signs of its carving.

In truth, nothing at all had happened, the bust had always appeared this way, the Glamor cast by the necklace in her hands had simply convinced her otherwise, and her own mind had filled in the rest. As it had so happened, the Baron's fiancée had been a vein woman indeed, wearing her treasures even into advanced old age to affect the appearance of youthful beauty. It had been said that the youth of Germania had been in awe of her beauty even on her deathbed.

The treasures added nothing to the wearer's vitality of course, they did not truly grant youth, but supposedly, the Baroness's ancient corpse still bore one of her husband's rings, preserving, to the senses at least, her beauty long after death.

The necklace too, Matilda quietly tucked into her jacket, searching the rest of the shelves for anything of suitable value to be worth pilfering. In the end, she thought better of getting too greedy. She knew the power of the two treasures she had decided to take. She couldn't say what hazards the others might bring if she were to steal them without knowing what they were.

"Monsieur, the Heel Stone is in place." One of the Guards reported, drawing Matilda back to the matter at hand. The three men had managed to wrestle the artifact from the vault and move the true Heel Stone to the back wall of the cellar. All that was left to do was to make sure it would not be found by chance.

The Guards had wrestled one of the wine shelves back away from the wall, exposing the smooth stone, the trick here was simple enough, Matilda didn't even have to concern herself with any wards. Well warded as the perimeter of the foundations might been, reinforcement by magic was used much more sparingly on the interior, and the wall's surface receded like water at Matilda's chant.

The Heel Stone was wrestled into place and Matilda reversed her spell to seal the artifact perfectly within the stone. Later, when security was lowered, Greer's men could come back with a local Earth Mage to extract the stone and smuggle it out by whatever means they saw fit.

"Make sure the duplicate is left in the exact same place." Matilda instructed. "Don't bother with trying to hide that we were in the vault, we want them to think we got what we came for." As they had.

When the work was done, the four handed over their cloaks to the Guard Leader who incinerated them in a flash of Fire Magic, leaving behind only a fine stain of soot before they made their way back up the stairs. All that was left now was to leave without drawing attention, and preferably before the break in was spotted.

At least, that was the plan.

The Guard Leader through an arm out, stopping the three of them in their tracks at the foot of the stairs, suddenly tense. "Where's Thomas?"

The group exchanged looks and then broke into a run to the top of the stairs, when they arrived on the first floor landing, they found no need to fear being noticed, everyone else was too busy being in the midst of panic.

"What the Devil?" The Guard Leader snapped.

"Tobeis!" A gravel voice called out, a graying man wearing a mantle over his guard uniform was cutting a path through the chaos.

"Captain!" Tobeis, the Guard Leader, answered sharply as he saluted. The Guard Captain? Not good! The man would think to question what they were doing here, she was sure. Bu instead . . .

"No, no, not in here, man!" The Captain shook his head.

"Sir?"

"Take your men out to the square past the gates, that's where we have everyone rallying! Hurry up, we need every man in the streets tonight!"

Not daring to inquire, Tobeis barked an affirmative and waved for the rest of them to follow.

"What in the infernos of hell?" The wind mage beside Matilda cursed.

"As if I can even guess!" Tobeis supplied back. "But if we're being put on alert, things must be bad. The Governor's guards weren't even rallied when that ship exploded!"

The sky outside was pitch black, the stars washed into oblivion by the brilliance of a hundred harsh mage-lights illuminating the courtyard and the square beyond the mansion walls where the House guards were already joining with the ranks of City Watchmen and army soldiers.

An army Lieutenant in the uniform of the Dragon Knights was barking orders from atop a fountain, gesticulating wildly to the mounted aerial cavalry. "Ensign Trayvor, get on Sir Wallace's wing, Sir Holland, Sir Meinhardt, sweep over the cliffs and keep an eye peeled for that blasted light! And someone get me news on the Governor's condition!"

"Leftenant Tobeis!" A mage standing at the base of the fountain waved for Tobeis and his men, the mage who had been standing watch was already by his side, he'd probably been swept up in the fervor of whatever the blazes was happening. Tobeis for one appeared intent to find out.

"Captain Halley, I've heard nothing but alerts so far, what is going on?" The Mage Officer blinked his eyes as he was dazzled by a Dragon Knight shinning a reflector from his saddle. "I mean to say . . ."

Captain Halley raised a hand to halt any comment. Only after rubbing his temples did the officer reply simply. "The Governor."

"What's happened to the Governor?" Lieutenant Tobeis asked. "Sir, has there been . . ."

"An assassination we believe." The Captain nodded gravely. "I just received word moments ago that Governor Barnard was killed while defending himself from assailants."

Whether he meant it or not, Tobeis supplied a soft spoken "Founder Above." at the revelation.

Barnard dead? Matilda couldn't have been more ambivalent, Barnard had simply been a static obstacle, and not even one that was in _her _path. But she didn't believe in coincidence either. Neither, seemingly, did Captain Halley.

"I don't think the Founder has any business with this one Leftenant. In fact, the perpetrators from initial reports may be of an altogether more malignant breed." Matilda felt her stomach sinking as she suspected what was to be said next.

"Faeries." Tobeis breathed.

"Aye, at least two, who knows how many it really is." The Captain planted a hand on a map of the city that he had been studying. "Leftenant, we cannot let the Governor's killers escape, order your men, I want you up on the wall of the Noble Quarter and on the watch for anything suspicious. We'll turn this city into a cage for those winged bastards."

"A-Aye Sir."

"Lieutenant Wells will be assigning some of his Dragon Knights to the walls to aid us. If the Faeries break and flee, he'll run them down." The Captain gestured to the man who was now dropping down from atop the fountain, a strikingly beautiful young woman falling in beside him as he grew near. When she grew within a dozen paces of Matilda, the woman paused and tilted her head, nostrils flaring. She appeared to look around as if someone had just whispered something in her ear.

"Sir, I will gladly offer what aid I can provide." The Knight said, only a hint of stress entering his voice. "But please reconsider spreading the cities forces so wide. This may just be the beginning of the attack to decapitate Kingston, if we scatter then . . ."

"Your advice is well taken Lieutenant." Captain Halley answered shortly. "But defense of Kingston falls under my jurisdiction and I want the heads of those assassins before they can strike again! Or need I remind that in your much vaunted experience, almost three hundred of these hell spawns escape the Albion once before, and took the damned Prince with them!"

"Thinning the guard is exactly what left the Governor vulnerable to assassination. Sir I must respectfully . . ."

"Then respectfully be _silent_, Sir Wells, you and your men were sent to aid _our_ security measures, now aid them!" The Captain glanced to the side, taking a note from one of his subordinates and reading under his breath. "And it couldn't be at a worse time . . . Tobeis, you have your orders, now off with you!"


	31. Chapter 7 Part 3: Interrogation

Halkegenia Online v3.0 – Chapter 7 – Part 3

Sprinting across the high rooftops of Kingston's port district, powerful vaults carrying her between buildings and across streets, and preternatural sense of balance and coordination aiding her footing, Shiori's Mahou body spared little of her attention to anything more than where she was going and the obstacles that got in her way.

Her Dagger self was better off, moving along the roofs paralleling the road on which the Governor's carriage was traveling. Having lost time getting down from the Harbor Tree's branches without being seen, Mahou Shiori still had a ways to go to catch up with the rest of herself.

If she'd still been male, and human, she'd be too busy collapsing from exhaustion by now, but as a Faerie she wasn't even winded. Which left her mind more than free enough to feel impatient.

'He's right where I want him!' The thought brewed up another rush of adrenaline, fight instincts raising the fine hairs on her necks and rousing a powerful bloodlustthat boiled at the back of her mind. This feeling was something she had to keep under control, especially this time, she couldn't just slay Barnard. She had to question him first.

The carriage hit a pothole in the road and rocked heavily on its suspension. Sword Shiori's tail coiled up until the muscles burned for release, eliciting a sympathetic sensation at the base of spines of her Mahou and Dagger selves.

Through the eyes of Mahou Shiori, she caught a glimpse, just a glimpse, as Dagger Shiori took another running leap, landing gracefully upon the next rooftop, they would cross paths perpendicular to one another pretty soon. When that happened, it would be time to strike.

Barnard remained seated as the coach rocked. Reclined on the front facing bench with his eyes closed and arms crossed, he looked like he was meditating. The bastard sure was calm for someone who'd just strong-armed a bunch of merchants to do his bidding, though Shiori had the distinct impression those men should have known what they were getting into, more or less.

Not her problem, but it begged the question how many people she'd be doing a favor tonight.

Mahou Shiori hit the inclined roof while still running, dropping to all fours to scamper up and then over. With a last jump she landed on the opposite side of the street from Dagger Shiori, trailing her melee spec self by about twenty meters, and the carriage with its guards by a little over thirty.

She'd waited to have all three of her in place before doing this because she wasn't about to take any chances. Selecting a spell from memory and chanting hurriedly under her breath to once again switch her reserve spell.

Sword Shiori waited for the next bump, and as the carriage rocked, took hold of the luggage shelf and swung herself free, extending her legs in a smooth motion that drove her feet firmly into the Governor's gut, meat yielding under her weight. The man only had time to convulse in shock before she was on top of him.

"Huuugghhh!"

The explosive gasp as air was forced from Barnard's lungs bought Shiori time to draw her sword, left hand holding tight to the overhead shelf to keep her steady while right pressed the keen blade to the Governor's throat.

Barnard recovered from the stunning strike with commendable speed for a man who had just had an enraged cat-girl dumped on him, recovered enough to try and go for his wand anyways, a move that ended as quickly as it had begun when Shiori pressed her blade, drawing the smallest trickle of blood from beneath the Governor's Adam's apple.

"Ah ah ah." Shiori clucked disapprovingly before saying sweetly. "And don't try alerting your guards either. We can't be having that now, can we, _Dorian-kun_?"

Watching from the rooftops through the eyes of Dagger and Mahou Shiori, she knew her sudden strike hadn't alerted the guards who kept their horses at an easy trot on either side of the carriage, heads constantly on a swivel for any sign of trouble. Wisely, Shiori took care to keep herselves out of the moonslight.

"You're . . . " The Governor managed to choke out, and then somewhat stupidly. "Faerie!"

"Very observant." Shiori hissed as she loomed over the man, her feet planted on the bench, legs straddling Barnard and absorbing the bouncing ride of the carriage. "Where's that clever tongue from earlier gone? You sure were making those merchant's dance to your tune."

"Spy." The mage's eyes widened. "No. Assassin!"

In the interest of moving the conversation past the mono and duo syllabic, Sword Shiori breathed a sigh. "Well, definitely yes on the first, and maybe yes on the second. It depends really." She injected a note of casual levity into her voice, surprised out how easy she found it to lie. "I'm only here to kill one person, and I don't think you're them, Dorian-kun." Shiori pressed one delicate, booted foot into the mage's chest. "So how about you convince me."

Barnard looked her in the eye, but whatever other foibles he had, cowardice wasn't one of them. If he was scared, he had his fears locked under a vice.

"Fucking Tristanian Dog." Barnard growled under his breath, and then. "And how do I know you won't just kill me when you have what you want?"

"Cat actually." Sword Shiori said dryly. "And if I kill you now, I can't come back to torture you if you lie. You have until this carriage gets close to your fancy house, if I don't have what I want by then, I'll just kill you." It frightened a tiny bit of herself just how easily she could say that, but Akira's inhibitions had long since taken a back seat to powerful instincts. Just a little bit more weight pressing against her blade. "Now, let's try this again. I have questions, you'll give me answers."

No verbal reply, the Governor's dark eyes darted between Shiori's own, the window, and the sword at his throat. Then, a fractional nod. Smart move, not like he had a choice.

"We'll start with Cromwell. You're one of his supporters, aren't you?" She'd start with things she knew, and then start asking things she didn't as she went.

This was the tricky part, because the truth was, barring some crime manga that Akira had read, Shiori didn't have much to fall back on when it came to interrogations. She knew that torture usually didn't work, or at least, it didn't usually get the sort of results that she wanted. Besides, it wasn't something she'd have known how to do properly.

The mind of the Assassin Shiori briefly blanked at that thought . . . Anyways . . .

That left her playing by the seat of her pants, more or less. She needed the information out of Barnard, but she wouldn't have any way to tell if he was giving her the truth or just a load of shit. Barnard probably knew that too, and if he had any hope of getting out of this alive, he was probably trying to carefully deciding what was worth saying to keeping breathing.

Shiori was sure Cromwell had people who were _very_ experienced at conducting torture. Barnard was probably sure of that too.

The Governor's eyes narrowed, and the man appeared almost too offended to answer at first before snorting. "Are these the sort of simpleton questions an agent of Tristain gets up to asking? Any man on the street would tell you I am Lord Cromwell's loyal servant."

Good, now the next question.

"Any you got that way by getting rid of the old Earl of Barnard, didn't you?" The carriage rocked again, and a brief sliver of moonslight pierced the narrow glass windows to catch in human and Faerie eyes. "You and your brother, you killed your own father."

Not so eager to answer this time, Barnard's face grew cold. It wasn't like it was a secret, the hypothetical 'man in the street' had already heard all about how their Governor had earned the trust and thanks of the Good Lord Cromwell. Then again, killing their own kin usually wasn't something even a complete bastard was proud of.

"I'm waiting, Dorian-kun." Sword Shiori's lips peeled back in a fanged smile.

It was like a dam giving way, first the leaks, then the cracks. "I saved this city, you hear me. The war was already over when it reached Kingston, everyone knew it but Father and that inbred on the throne!" Barnard growled, the pinched skin of his face growing creased in rage. "Father and the King were going to destroy it all for nothing but spite, but I _stopped _it. Me!"

"And how very noble of you, Dorian-kun." Shiori answered, but she had to admit, that sounded like real pride. She guessed it was true what they said; nobody was the villain in their own head. "So you got Kingston for stabbing your father in the back, and your brother got the whole County of Barnard for being a good little General in Cromwell's army. Bet you were a little pissed about not getting the title too."

Shiori could practically feel the heat of the anger beaming from Barnard's eyes. Another bounce, Barnard's posterior parting ways with his bench seat before plummeting back down with a -thump-.

"You look angry. You know, I think it pisses you off that your brother got the County." Barnard's jaw tensed. "And I think that's why you've been such a loyal little servant to Lord Cromwell. You want him to favor you over your brother. I wonder, are there some daddy issues there? You did _kill _your daddy after all, Dorian-kun." His blood was nice and hot now. "But you know what I think? He already favors you. He trusts you. You're running this whole city now and get to do whatever you want to _who_ever you want inside of its walls."

Just saying it, just thinking about it sent a cruel thrill racing down Shiori's spine. He was good and angry now. She could see it in his eyes. Her senses were at their keenest, her wits were at their sharpest as gazed into the black, envious little soul of Dorian Barnard and saw something reflect back. A dark little part of her wasenjoying this entirely too much.

"The County, the seat in Londinium should have been mine!"

"Ah but then we would have never met, Dorian-kun. A trusted man like you hears lots of things. Important things. Things that no one else does. Things about secrets plans, and mistresses . . . " Shiori leaned close to breath in Barnard's ear. "I wonder if you've heard anything about necromancers."

A heartbeat passed, and Shiori's ears twitched with disappointment, the high she'd been riding began to fade into pointlessness. He didn't know. She was sure of it. The way his eyes had widened could have meant he was surprised, but the anger that followed wasn't what Shiori would have expected, more like genuine revulsion at the thought.

Shiori let her dagger self speak the obscenities for her as she kept up on the rooftops above. The guards on horseback hadn't shown any sign of getting suspicious, but they were getting close of the wall that divided the port district from the more affluent Noble quarter of the city. The Governor's carriage wasn't going to get stopped for a search, but getting over the wall undetected while keeping up with Governor and his guards could get tricky, and the Noble district beyond the wall was both more crowded at night, and much better lit. She'd never say it to the Governor's face, but time was on his side.

"How dare! How dare you accuse the Good Lord Cromwell of consorting with such vile magic!" The Governor's voice broke, high and shrill. "Demon! Accusing others of your heresy!"

"Oh, but it's not me who's accusing." Shiori answered, all of the fake amusement vanishing as she weighed in on her sword, carefully, the edge was so keen, she didn't want to lop off his head when they hit a bump. "Some of us have seen the handiwork first hand. Dead friends getting back up to try and kill them. They fought them, and put them back in their graves. Now I want to put the person who raised them in _theirs."_

"But you don't know that. I guess you're not high enough up." Shiori added softly, savoring the flash of anger as she twisting at the man's tender pride. "You're useless to me." Barnard inhaled, the reflexive action of a man readying to loose a final, mortal scream.

"Unless . . ." Shiori said. "Unless you can tell me _who_ might know. I'm sure you can tell me that, can't you?"

The Governor opened his mouth and then shut it again. "People close to the Lord Cromwell? That's what you're after?"

"Just the one." Shiori promised, everything else was just incidental, more or less."

The Governor's glass eyes danced in the moonslight, leave it to a politician to calculate every angle before coming up with a reply. "Then you really don't _know_ who he trusts. Do you?"

Shiori blinked once and tilted her head. She could feel the muscles of her face going tense in a feline rictus. "Enlighten me."

"Lord Cromwell . . . our Lord Cromwell . . . has many trusted allies now. He gained them as the King lost his."

"Gained them like he gained you and your brother, I suppose." Shiori reasoned, passing the thought off to one of her other selves to mull over while the fragment of her mind that existed within Sword Shiori stayed fixed on the matter at hand.

"Tch . . ." Barnard spat a curse under his breath. "The Roundtable he calls it. They are his closest advisers in all matters of the military and state. If your _Necromancer_exists in any place or shape but your delusions, then he will be known to at least one of them."

"Names." Shiori said.

Barnard looked her in the eye. "I'll give your more than names if you'll promise something to me."

"Your life?"

The Governor licked his lips. "My brother's." Dark eyes shining. "He's one of the Roundtable. Guarantee to go after him first and I shall tell you what I know."

When what Barnard was asking finally sank in, Shiori felt her anger ignite, and with it, her impatient instincts hungrily urging for her to _play_ with her food. Even the knowledge that he was a patricide had not caused Shiori's loathing to stoop so low.

And at the same time, gratitude, relief. The Governor had set her free, unlocked the last shackles of Akira Shirotaka's hesitation.

"You want a freebie." She concluded.

The Governor's expression remained neutral. "A fair deal I should think. The names of the men you seek, their foibles, things you would not easily learn. All I ask is that my brother is removed. The imbecile wasn't even due to inherit the title."

"Talk and we'll see."

"Let's start among the elevated peers then, something to wet your interests. Sir Willheim of Orange, he's an adviser to Lord Cromwell's Roundtable, not a full member, but he moves a rather great deal of money for our benefactor."

"Go on."

"His home is inland overlooking Saxe Gotha. He may have ties to an incident, a decade past, the death of the Archduke."

Shiori clicked her tongue impatiently. "And why should I care about that?"

The wall was getting close. Her Dagger and Mahou selves were already melting back into the shadows of their Hollow Body spells as they readied to make the climb up and over the top. The wall rose a good five meters over the tallest of the surrounding rooftops and guards stood watch from its towers, but she thought she could slip by if she stuck to the shadows of the buildings when she approached.

"I couldn't say." Barnard glanced out the window, his voice was coming quickly now. "Nobody can tell for sure, but the Archduke and the Lord of Saxe Gotha died on the same day, the Archduke returning from Londinium and the Earl of Saxe Gotha in a fire that consumed his manor.

"A mage killed in a fire?" That sounded like certifiable bullshit.

She'd seen what dots and lines could do, and as near as she could tell, even the softest mages tended to make it at least that far. A mage was never without the basic symbol of their power, their foci, she'd have believed 'tripped getting out of the bath' before she'd buy that a mage had died helpless in a burning building.

"Quite the coincidence wouldn't you say? Sir Willheim was a loyal servant to the late Archduke, he should have been with his master when he was killed, but business kept him in Londinium for an extra day. Many of the Archduke's supporters died out over the following months and years, but Willheim has prospered quite grandly. I'm sure there's a story there that you could use."

"Leverage." Shiori reasoned.

"More or less." Barnard sounded almost conversational now, the weasel was getting into his element. "That's the least I can tell you, but there's hardly enough time between here and home if you want the rest."

"Then talk faster." The cait didn't bother with brandishing her sword.

"If you want it all, then this trip will need to last a while longer. Please, if I may direct the horses." A hand reached for a device hanging against the wall, it looked something like an old telephone pickup from some grainy old movie, a little carved wooden hand piece shaped like a cup and attached to a cable at thick as a garden hose. Barnard's hand stopped as Shiori touched the blade of her sword back to his neck.

"If you do anything to signal your guards, they'll die before they can breathe a spell." One jump from either side, Dagger and Mahou Shiori could do them in before they even realized they were under attack.

"I'm just signaling the horses." Dorian said. "I'm not eager to die tonight. My men are used to having no foreknowledge of my affairs." Taking the speaking hose in one hand and holding it to his lips, he hesitated for a moment to give Shiori a peculiar look. "I must say, firstborns or not, I did not expect an assassin of the Faeries to take the form of such a lovely girl."

Shiori chuckled darkly, being formerly male, and a shut in familiar with the worst parts of the net, Shiori was not beyond a moment of dark humor. "Is this Dorian-kun's way of saying a 'Cat will do too?'"

"Merely an observation." Barnard's hid a coy smile that made all three of her desire to wretch. "A man of refinement learns to appreciate the rare and exotic."

"You better hurry before we make it all the way home."

"I suppose you're right." Shiori blinked, and in the space between blinks, something changed in Barnard's smile. He barked into the speaking tube. "I order you absolutely to go at once NORTH-SOUTH!"

No sooner had the words left Barnard's lips that Shiori realized she'd been had. She'd underestimated Barnard, Shiori thought clinically as she felt herself go weightless, losing her grip and falling away from the Governor. Time slowed down to a crawl and detachment took hold.

They'd call it an out of body experience, Shiori was sure. Well. _They'd_ call it an out of body experience. Being out of bodies was something entirely more bizarre for Shiori when she _really was_ able to see her selves from the outside. That just managed to intensify it, magnifying the sensation. Riding on the shoulder of Mahou Shiori, her bodies running on instinct, Shiori could observe the disaster unfold from all angles.

The Golem Horses, shaped from white marble to resemble a pair of powerfully built stallions, had seemingly taken on a terrified life of their own, fighting against one another and straining in their harnesses, one pulled left as the other pulled right, and together their gait rose from an easy cantor to a desperate gallop, flanks rippling as if skin over taut muscle. The flagstones beneath their shod hooves sparked as horseshoes struck down.

If the men trailing behind hadn't been suspicious before, they'd have to be blind now. Both had spurred their horses to catch up and Shiori, running high on the roof to either side, dove after them like a pair of predatory birds.

Together the horses pulled apart and then smashed together again, their authentic soundings 'neighs' turning to garbled screeches as the Left horse collided with and through the side of a stone building, weight and raw strength drove the construct onward but not without a spiderweb of cracks spreading across its sculpted body, shinning with the blue tinge of magic light, and growing with every motion of its gate.

When it broke a moment later, it did so catastrophically, entire limbs flying off in the midst of their gallop and shattering into gravel as animating magic faded and tension fracture rigid stone. A harsh glow of magic flashed through the dying Golems eyes and Shiori could almost have likened it to uncomprehending fear as art imitated life even into death.

The remaining horse, freed as its companion shattered into unidentifiable fragments that left behind only its harness, continued its mad sprint, now in a dead heat towards the still open gate and the guards that were now watching with rapt attention. It wasn't going to make it.

The carriage really was built like a tank, riding on its heavy springs as it wobbled side to side, but it really wasn't going to take this for long, any more than the horses, and the oscillations that had started small grew with every heartbeat. Sword Shiori was thrown about like a loan bean in a very large, sharp edged tin can before receiving a vicious kick to the stomach for good measure just as the bouncing became too much.

Tilting onto one side, wheel spinning freely in the air, the Governor's carriage landed with a crash and a screaming trail of sparks, leaving torn up paving stones and shattered glass in its wake. It was a crash that was helped along quite a ways by the pulling Golem horse which at last managed to snap its harness up its drunken sprint down the street.

All the while the world was rattling itself apart around her, Shiori felt like her teeth were going to be knocked out of her skull, or maybe her brains would be pureed until they dribbled out of her ears. That sensation stopped abruptly as all three of her were taken by the feeling of hand closing like a vice around her throat.

Sword Shiori's eyes snapped open in time to explode with white stars as she was slammed into ceiling, now the wall, of the carriage and then met with a solid left hook on the rebound. The blow was hard, not hard enough to leave her completely stunned, but way hard than she'd have expected someone like Dorian Barnard to manage.

Sword Shiori's awareness was a daze, but her other selves were more than able to pick up the slack, guiding her Sword Body in its rattled brain's stead. Her blade had remained in her hands, somehow, and even as her eyes struggled to focus, she could make out enough to lash out.

Unseen Moon traced a short arc and then stopped abruptly as it met resistance and bit into it. Her reward was another punch to the face and then something like needles jabbing deep into her shoulder. Her entire right side exploded in fire as every nerve sent a message signaling Pain at once, so sharp it nearly took her breath away and caused her consciousness to briefly retreat into her uninjured bodies now locked in battle outside.

She'd gotten one of the guards, killed him as she came down on his horse, but she'd gotten her timing a little off in the chaos, and Dagger Shiori, who had landed on the leading horseman had alerted the trailing rider who had immediately put up a fight to prevent Mahou Shiori from finishing the job.

Now her Mahou and Dagger bodies were face to face with the remaining guard, who wasn't too shabby with his spell-work and knew that he only had to hold out until the men down the street could arrive.

All because she'd let the chance for reward tempt her. Sword Shiori kicked herself as her eyes fought open, streaming tears of pain and strangely sensitive to the light, the agony to her side was gone, replaced with a dull numbness and an ache near her shoulder as Barnard loomed, examining the damage to his forearm.

Unseen Moon had cut through the leather of his jacket like a razor through cheap paper, it hadn't gone through the stuffing nearly as easily, thick, rough threads of dull silver gray wriggled like they were alive, living steel wool and slowly knit itself back together beneath the surface of the Governor's jacket.

"Do you like it?" Barnard asked as held her in stalemate, Shiori was still putting pressure on the Governor's arm, and he still hand his hand around her throat, only held back by Shiori's free hand attempting to crush his wrist. But the cuff of his jacket wasn't yielding either and she didn't dare let up to shift her grip. "Say what you will about Albion's Tudor line, but they produced some truly gifted enchanters down the generations. Enchanters who created works such as this jacket, a wearable Golem of sorts, forever protecting its master."

The sounds of battle outside were getting louder, the Governor's men were getting close, Mahou and Dagger Shiori hit the surviving guards from both sides at once. Skills or not, the man didn't stand a chance with their coordination.

"I must admit, this will be the first time I've ever taken pleasure at killing something beautiful." Barnard hissed. "Tell me, did you really think the Governor of _Kingston_would have only two guards and no further lines of defense?"

In fact, she might have. It just went to show that she'd almost given Barnard enough rope to hang her by. Shiori made sure it was her sword body that snickered under her breath, eliciting a sneer from Barnard.

"And _what_ pray tell, would have you so amused?"

"I was just thinking, before I go, I want to know if all that roundtable stuff was made up." Shiori cracked an eye, and then smiled with barred fangs. "That look on your face says it is. What I was _really_ wandering was whether that fancy enchanted jacket protects your face." Because if it did, Barnard wouldn't have waited to get her away from his neck.

The door above their head was torn open, Barnard only had time to look up and see the twin flashes of reflected moonslight that had come for him. As it turned out, Dagger Shiori felt the trembling of the Governor's death spasms through the hilts of her daggers. The jacket _didn't_ protect his face.

Sword Shiori let her sudden weariness enfold her, but only for a moment as she examined the mark on her shoulder where Barnard had delivered whatever spell he'd used to stun her with. The skin was red, and already showing signs of blisters, but no permanent damage. She decided to count herself luck.

Dagger Shiori reached a hand down to help her Sword self out of the carriage, Mahou Shiori forcing the guards at the far end of the street, the first responders from the gate, to keep their heads down as she kept up a steady series of un-aimed spell fire through the smoke screen she'd laid down. The occasional musket shot was joined by wind bullets and ice shells, but nothing heavier lest they hit their Governor. They didn't realize Barnard was dead yet, very dead. Shiori gave a last, disrespectful kick to the corpse denuded of its ocular purity.

Well in that case, she wasn't going to lose this opportunity to escape. "Like I said, I'll be going now." Sword Shiori lifted herself free with the help of her Dagger self, pausing just long enough to cast fire spell down into the interior of the carriage, then together, both dropped down behind cover, where musket fire -pinged- like BBs at a festival shooting gallery.

They made their way towards the dark mouth of an alley, Dagger Shiori offering support to her recovering Sword self while Mahou Shiori brought up the rear. The mage build conjured quartet of decoys as her smokescreen faded, leaving the constructs to run off into the night where they would draw at least few of their pursuers before they were destroyed.

In the meantime, she had what she'd come for, more or less, another name and no one to tell Reconquista where and when she was coming. All that was left was to disappear. She had plans for that too. Spare clothes she'd bought and left at a rented room near the docks. She'd lay low for a few days and then slip away, under the cover of dark if need be.

Only as the sounds of pursuit faded behind her, and the flares blooming up into the bell filled sky became hidden by the tall, leaning walls that confined the streets did the Cait Syth triplets began to shiver at what had just happened and how close they'd come to getting themselves killed. Shiori decided this was a valuable lesson. In a world full of magical artifacts, count on an antiquarian to be the most dangerous guy in the room.


	32. Chapter 7 Part 4: Trouble with Dragons

Author's Note: On the Subject of Characters and Creativity. The World We Make.

I'll be honest right here. I actually spent several hours writing and rewriting this comment before I decided to just let it flow and post what came out.

I usually don't post author comments like this because I think if I've done my job right then I shouldn't have to defend my story. People who like the story will still like it and people who dislike it will still dislike it.

This is on the subject of OCs or Original Characters which have obviously been at the forefront of v3 and I've received some heat about it from people who think that their dislike of OCs constitutes valid criticism of a story.

All I can say to those people is that I am very sorry that they haven't enjoyed this volume and focus will be switched back to the canon characters in v4, actually before that, I'm currently writing Shiori meeting with the Canon characters and at last merging their plotlines, if this offends them they are fully within their rights to stop reading either permanently or until the next volume comes out, though I'd also wish they wouldn't because I would have thought they'd be more invested by now.

I in fact made this very clear when I began writing v3 that it was going to be an intermission to explore OCs and the world around them and for me to basically veg out and have fun. Therefore complaining about the OCs is not a criticism because it was not a mistake, it was very deliberate on the part of the author. Hence why I chose to write OCs that I thought would be interesting to explore rather than throwing away an opportunity offered to me by the scenario of this story.

I mean frankly, the Shiori have been an utter pleasure to write.

There seems to be this contention in the fanfiction community about Original Characters. Like it is a synonym for inferior, or author self insert, or Mary Sue. And that appears to turn people away from stories involving them which is sad in its way because it essentially forbids any sort of fanfic growing outside of a comfortable little box we create for it.

It also speaks of something . . . shallow . . . about us, both as writers and readers. That an author is somehow qualitatively better only when they write a Canon Character vs an OC Character which seems incredibly insulting to both the talents and weaknesses of a given author.

The assumption that we are so devoid of creativity that we can only sustain interest or imagination in a story off of what someone else has given to us or that our investment in a creative work is only as deep as the wrapper of a character name and description and does not go deeper into the characterization or development of that character.

There is another term for Canon Character and for Original Character, we call it simply 'Character'.

Fanfiction has an appeal because it is a derivative work and that is wonderful. There is nothing quite like reading about character that we love in new and different and exciting situations. It is in a way proof that humans are capable of _magic_ of breathing life into an idea even without being the original author. And every chance I get I won't to go back to writing Kirito and Asuna and when the time comes, Louise.

But Fanfiction is also a creative work and somebody who turns their nose up at it simply for becoming . . . more creative? . . . is simply shackling themselves. It's quite another story if you don't _like_ what is being written of course, by all means you shouldn't read something you hate or have no interest in. But just because it is different or has grown and changed? That is what stories do.

No, do not sully yourself by making that your opinion. Do not lessen yourself by taking that as your opinion.

Like something because you like it, dislike it because you dislike it, but always do so on its own merits.

HaLO started off as the story of Kirito and Asuna in a magical world where everything that they were in Aincrad was now real and where the personas of the Black Swordsman Kirito and Asuna the Flash took on new meaning. So it started off as a crossover of Characters but it has grown since then into a crossover of premise. Asuna and Kirito have found each other, they are committed to the fight, and there are so many other amazing stories that have the chance to be told and explored before I get back to them.

The story of a small quiet girl, someone who was nobody amazing, suddenly having to become someone larger than life, suddenly finding herself as a leader, a role model to an murder of little crows, a _mother_ in a strange world and of the solemn man who has become a warrior and chosen to raise that child with her.

The story of an old man, now again a young man, who has the terrifying prospect of a lifetime ahead of him. And of an old woman, now again a young girl who just might want to live that lifetime with him.

The story of a military hobbyist becoming a master strategist and of a washed up general becoming commander of the armies.

Of a wounded Kendo master becoming a diplomat and noblewoman and fierce swordswoman, of a man of faith leading the faithful, and of a sidelined salaryman becoming a wealthy investor.

The story of a bitter young hacker turned into something weird and unique, fiercely vicious, and fearlessly protective of the memory of her sister.

The story of a Dragon Knight twisted by shame and guilt and cowardice and the soldiers around him who are the pawns of a cruel King.

These are the stories I've been writing, that I've written, and that I continue to write. Not just Kirito and Asuna's story though again and again we will come back to the Kirigayas and Yui especially (I'll be taking a hiatus from the main story to post a side story, Yui's first day at school following this chapter) or Louise's story (although she will be appearing again starting in v4 and become prominent most likely in v5)

Please, I hope nobody takes this the wrong way, and I say this very humbly when I say I do not write this story for you and I do not write this story just for me. I write for the story itself and that is amazing. And because of that writing and because of that creativity, I have been able to connect with other people in a way that I simply haven't before and never imagined I would.

I have talked with, and argued _at_ a Scottish pHD student about neuroscience, and discussed Shintoism and Weddings with a native Japanese. I've have a chance to speak with Historians about military history and discuss the psychology of all of these _weird_ characters, and have been introduced to so many other wonderful stories and works and people.

So if this became something different along the way, or if this world has gotten out of hand, it gave you what it promised to start and lot more besides. So good. Why shouldn't it? What other opportunity would I have to write something like this?

I see I have meandered on, and maybe this was selfish of me to say, but thank for your time, everyone.

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><p>Halkegenia Online – Chapter 7 Part 4<p>

For the second time in the span of a week, the city of Kingston on Hull was transformed into a hornets nest, the bells ringing from every church and watch tower, flares and mage lights from the overflying ships painting the roofs and streets in light that was either sullen red or harsh white.

On the ground every man in Kingston's formidable garrison had been mobilized, fanning from their block houses and barracks to man the walls and to clear the citizens from the streets as in the air, the DragonKnights conducted their sweeps. The General of the Garrison had declared martial law across the city, anyone who didn't get themselves inside in a timely fashion would be detained and questioned. Any person or group of persons who could not produce papers on demand would find themselves at the mercy of the army.

Though most of the citizens would not learn of the night's events until morning, word traveled quickly among the garrison as the men hurried to their stations, passed by word of mouth until it was known to every soldier and guard.

The Lord Governor was dead, killed at the hands of an assassin. And coming in the wake of that revelation was the nature of the killer, a Faerie, if the glimpses of watch officers and guardsmen could be believed. There was a Faerie loose in Kingston and the General wanted it found, and the General wanted it _killed_.

The gates to the port district had been shut and their guard details doubled, mages were stationed in a perimeter to constantly cast detection spells while guard platoons were readied and sent into the barricaded district intent on smoking the rat out where it could be crushed by the power gathering above.

It was an impressive display, Iruku thought, and completely wasted. Not because the assailant might be a Faerie, no, but because they had succeeded so completely already.

Walking the streets of Kingston at an unhurried pace, the heels of Iruku's finely made leather boots clicked mutely against the cobblestones, she was like an oasis of calm, even the air around her seemed still and quiet as she passed, in contrast with the citizens scurrying for shelter around her.

Any assassin who could kill the Governor and who did not immediately take their own life to evade capture would have already laid plans to make good their escape. Else, they would never have been competent to kill the Governor in the first place. It was simple sense that Iruku had grasped centuries ago, even a human with barely more experience than a juvenile could arrive at the same conclusion. Some of them, in any case.

Lieutenant Sir William Wells had warned the Governor's men, sensibly, that they would be better served consolidating their forces to defend the Harbor's vital infrastructure, some had even been willing to listen, higher authorities had not, and the Dragon Knight's had been ordered into the fray to join the search. There was always the chance that luck would favor them, Iruku had seen slimmer gambits pay off in her five hundred odd years, but she would not have been a woman to gamble on it.

'So troublesome.' Stupid people that was, human or otherwise, but mostly humans at present. She'd been spoiled by competence she supposed.

If humans had a sensible society, their females would run things and the males would keep their snouts to the ground outside mating season. Then again, if humans were sensible, their females would be large enough to keep the males in line and wouldn't be addled year round by mating instincts. Nothing about humans was sensible.

Iruku rubbed at her temples, a technique that had proven marvelously effective at relieving her recent migraines. The noises all around reached her ears as attenuated, distant whispers within a shell of air she knew would have been regarded as a frivolous use of magic by her kin, but it helped her to think at times like this.

Fingers, long and thin, and tipped by perfect nails fell back to her sides. She thought such things about humans, but at the same time, it suited her so well to take their sense of beauty for her own.

Humans had a saying that 'Life was easier for the beautiful'. Iruku could only think it had more meaning for a species who could not change shape at a whim. Though even her own kin would have accused her of being hopelessly vain if they saw her now. And they would be right. Her intuition had not helped her in grasping the human aesthetic, but she could still tell the difference between a fine dress and a hempen sack and knew which she would prefer to wear. She was a female after all, and ought to be afforded her vanity.

Which was why she'd been shameless in taking the time to properly shape her human body, watching, and taking cues from the sorts of women who she'd seen draw the eyes and passions of men. Long legs, slim waist, pert breasts, and full, firm buttocks. Smooth white skin that was in direct opposition to the rough and horned texture that was appealing to her own kind, and long, lustrous hair that she wore in a bun, but which would fall to the middle of her shoulder blades when undone.

She'd been quite successful in assuming an appealing shape, she liked to think, so much so that her human had once complained about how improbable it was and how she should have gone back to something more modest, receiving a contemptible snort in kind.

She'd declined his suggestion without much thought, first because he'd been inebriated at the time, and second because she wasn't going to throw away her work and its benefits just for his sake. She'd invested a great deal of time and effort to get things just so, not to mention the upkeep over the years to keep a fragile human body in its prime.

But that was neither here nor there. Because no matter how well she had come to imitate a human female, Iruku was _not _human and had stopped short of robbing herself of all of her draconic traits. Sight, hearing, and smell, were all as sharp as ever. The last in particular had her attention now.

It had been at the Governor's mansion where she had caught a whiff of something interesting, a trace of scent clinging to one of the guards that was distinctly out of place and unusual enough to have made her suspicious of the coincidence.

But Iruku had held her tongue. Despite her human's complaints to the contrary, she _did_ possess a modicum of discretion when the mood took her.

It would not be the first time that a lover or a Lady of the Night had visited a barracks in disguise after all, in fact, Iruku had found the common perception quite convenient at times, to the chagrin of her human.

Or it could be as innocent as a young woman finding respectable work in the only place that would have her, even if that place would only have men. Contrary to the claims of the army, the case of their men not in fact _being_ men was not so rare an event, especially in these times when soldiers were needed everywhere and not too many questions were being asked.

Likelier than not, she'd stumbled across something harmless, with an equally mundane explanation. And if not, if it happened to be more than coincidence that a woman was dressing herself as a city guard on the night of the Governor's assassination, then it would behoove her to investigate before she made her report.

'Eirn Lutecce' was the personal secretary to Knight Captain Sir Terrance Dunwell, she was free to go where she pleased to aid her employer and was not subject to the idiot whims of males who weren't even a century out of the egg.

That was why she had kept her tongue and instead watched, and listened, and now followed behind the peculiar guard who she was almost certain was not, in fact, a guard. Pity, because she and her companions had certainly been alert and attentive as they mingled with the crowds that were still thinning from the streets.

They would look about, one by one, from time to time as if suspicious that they might be followed. Smart. But it was also giving them away, and did little to deter Iruku who enjoyed the luxury of remaining at a safe distance and following by scent.

At least one of the men really was a guard, she'd heard the Captain call him by name when he'd ordered the squad to report to their stations, and they were traveling in the general direction of the nearest of the wall sections. As for the others, she'd expect any fakes to take the opportunity to split off soon. An emergency muster was no time to be found where they didn't belong.

Iruku did not have long to wait before her suspicions were validated.

Kingston's great walls were the product of ages, like the growth rings of a tree, each signifying an era of the city's history. The inner walls that sub divided the city districts had come most recently. Shorter, and less well built, they'd had to contest with the city sprawl building all the way to their foundations and the paths of a good many drainage ways for both waist and water.

The former had been dealt with in the way humans did best, simply ignoring it until buildings that were three or four floors high stood with their top floors level with the parapets. But the latter had not been so easily brushed aside. The River Hull wound through Kingston proper, the end of its trek from the mountains that formed the spine of the White Isle, and the nobility were none too eager to swim in their own filth either.

The solution had been the construction of a stone-lined trench, an open air sewer, where it had not become enclosed by buildings and roads spanning the gap. The district gutters all lead here to pour out their filth which then traveled on beneath the walls and back to the Hull to be carried off the edge of the world.

If a fugitive had thought they could make use of the sewers to sneak past the garrison, they would have found themselves mistaken. The channels passing under the city walls had been grated off by iron bars, with a watch garrison stationed on each side, just as if it were any other city gate. But the security between walls was another matter entirely, and though the course of the sewers were well known, they were not, as a general rule, frequently patrolled.

Given the Faeries were last spotted running about in the port district and the considerably more impressive wall separating that place from the Noble Quarter, chances were good that no one was minding the sewers tonight either.

Iruku wrinkled her nose, eyes watering as she neared, the stench really was something quite beyond belief, threatening to mask the scent she was following, like tainted meat poisoned to the bone. Even the human denizens of Kingston gave the place a wide birth, with the exception of the city's leather workers who had found use of the viscous muck they could extract here for their trade.

Naturally, this was the place that the guards would go their separate ways, the four males continuing onward towards the wall while their lone female companion slipped away to vanish over the lip of the sewer.

Iruku fought hard not to grimace. Wrinkles were a hassle to fix after all. Waiting for the rest of the guards to disappear down the next street corner, she had a name among those four. It was the woman who interested her. But . . .

She winced as she peered down into the slowly moving channel of sludge. By the time it collected here, after traveling through the commoner, merchant, and half of the Noble districts, there wasn't much recognizable to take particular offense at, only that unrecognizable order that offended in every particular way at the same time.

Not for the first time, Iruku paused to wander if she was really going to do this. She'd become quite good at answering herself. A female's vanity, was at its source, tied to her pride, and Iruku was _proud. _When she gave her word, she kept it.

Even so, Iruku resolved that if her intuition proved correct, she would demand a lovely new gown that would properly compliment her human figure, and a case of quality Gallian brandy, and Terrance would provide her with a proper dinner for once as well, not the random escaped horses and orcs she'd been sating herself on.

Keeping those pleasant promises at the forefront of her mind, Iruku hiked her skirts and took her first step. Luckily, the sewer was paralleled by a footpath, or rather, the channel widened in such a way that an elevated ledge was formed a half mail above the surface of the flowing muck.

Looking either way, the dragon in human skin was reluctant to scent at the air to tell which way the woman had gone, luckily, the sewer didn't offer any offense to her ears, releasing the tendrils of ambient magic that had given their aid, sound returned to her, and with it, the faint echo of footsteps traveling away from the near wall, west, towards the merchant district.

Iruku took one step and stopped at the sound of her own heels. Clicking her tongue before calling once more to the world for its aid, threads of magic spun from thin air, shaping themselves to answer her pleas, shrouding her again in silence so deep that the thanks she offered were swallowed up before they'd left her lips.

This was the primordial magic, the first magic to be born into the world with a will of its own. It had given birth to the Spirits and instilled consciousness upon Iruku's own kind, and whether it was used lavishly or abstained from entirely, it was always to be given due respect.

Her next step was as silent as a whisper, as was the one after that, but sound still reached her, and the steady footsteps echoing into the distance reminded her that she would need to hurry if she didn't want to lose the woman and any trace of her scent.

The bells ringing in their towers grew distant, the buildings closed in overhead. The sewer was so dark that even if the woman was to turn her head back, she would not have seen her pursuer. But Iruku did not need to see to follow her.

She'd find where this woman was going and then return to Sir Wells' side. That would leave only the question of how she would inform him of what she'd learned.

Well . . . the Lieutenant was smart, for a human and a male. She could claim to have recognized the woman's face, or to have noticed a hint of perfume, any number of things that might set his mind to work. And Terrance would be arriving in Kingston soon, if need be, she could dispose of this sham and simply tell her human directly.

'You really have led me into some interesting situations, boy.' Iruku mused, and then stopped in her tracks as her foot fell, and the stone beneath her feet felt suddenly soft.

Her heart, her small human heart, pounded in her chest as her foot sank to its ankle, not just sank but was _sucked_ down as the stone crumbled to dust and became like quicksand, first around her left foot, and then around her right.

Iruku didn't shout, she'd lived too long and through too many surprises for this one to be much of a threat, instead, calmly beseeching aid from the world, the Rhyme Dragon drew herself free of the trap and into the air, shifting her weight lithely like a swimmer in water, her hair tossed by magic winds as her human form lighted a dozen meters back. The sharp rattle set her again dancing through the air, dodging whip-like chains until, growing exacerbated, she asked the magic surrounding her to gather in her right hand and struck out blindly at the source of the noise.

A thin, irresistible blade of wind met chains writhing like the limbs of a sea creature and cut them to pieces as if they were no more sturdy. The fragments fell to the ground or into the muck stream in a shower of broken links.

It was then that the clapping alerted Iruku to the location of her assailant, caught in the moonslight, profile broken up by a cloak.

"Marvelous reactions, I must say." A voice, soft but deep and verging on amused, congratulated her. "No wand, so you must be using a rather exotic focus young miss. Perhaps a jewel or ring? I dare say it must be valuable."

Iruku's eyes narrowed. The ring on her right hand was indeed a focus, though as she could no more use human Divine Pentagon Magic than a human could call directly upon the primordial magic of the world, it was really nothing more than a pretty bobble that might excuse her if dire need required her to beseech magic while among humans.

"How about a deal, surrender your focus to me and I shall only tie you in chains."

"I should ask the name of the person who would put a fair maiden in bondage before the end of their first meeting," Iruku answered with a hint of ill humor to buy herself time, "Before I dare to abide."

The footsteps had stopped, so either this was the woman she'd been following, or someone she'd been here to meet. Either way, they'd gotten the drop on her, the smell, the dark, and the echoes carried by the sewer masking them until the last moment. Iruku felt no small measure of satisfaction. It appeared she'd been right to follow her intuition.

The cloaked figure placed a hand to its chest. "Moi? Surely you have heard, I am Foquet of the Crumbling Earth, friend to few, and thief to all others. Might I have your name in kind, Mademoiselle?"

"Eirn Luttece." Iruku said under her breath, a sibilant hiss as her tongue pressed against her bottom teeth. She had heard of this human, and if it was not merely a copycat using the name then it was yet more proof of something amiss. "A pleasure to make your acquaintance Monsieur Foquet, but I'm afraid I will not be surrendering myself to your tender mercies this evening."

The hooded thief hardly moved before a small cluck of disappointment. "Then I do believe we'll have to end this the hard way."

Indeed they would, and Iruku intended to be the one to end it. Be first to strike, and rip out your opponent's throat. That was the surest way to escape an ambush once sprung. Whatever the species, the principles were the same. Iruku threw herself into the air, trusting in the winds to carry her as she lighted first to the lip of the sewer trench and then up onto the bottom roof of a flanking building.

It became clear immediately why Foquet had chosen this as the place to lay his ambush, no sooner had Iruku's feet touched the tile roof did the entire facing begin to give way, stone breaking like chalk under her weight, a second landing left her no more sure footed and she was quickly back in the air to escape more chains, one catching her painfully by the ankle and swinging her into a brick and mortar wall.

The skin of Iruku's back split with scales and bulged with strong flight muscles as she bled into her true form, not enough to truly change, which would only have made her a large, struggling target trapped in a space no wider than a half dozen mails, but enough to lessen the blow as she bounced once and then severed the chain with an instinctive kick of sharp toenails changed into something closer to proper talons, her fingernails too, she looked down at the black claws with their too long fingers and bulging joints and felt her fragile human lips peel back, inadvertently slicing themselves on sharpening teeth.

None of this would be visible to Foquet in the distance and the dark, but it would make all the difference in the close quarters when Iruku brought him to her, and then it wouldn't matter what 'Foquet' the thief saw as the Rhyme Dragon tore his head off.

Digging her claws into the stonework, Iruku shouted her plea to the world and the world answered with an icy gale so swift and intense that it nearly peeled her from her purchase, the unready thief stood barely a chance, slipping across roof tiles and falling almost into reached before more chains shout out from the walls, grabbing the human just beyond her grasp and reeling him back as the stench beneath them redoubled, freed by something which was taking shape as it broke the surface, blocks of bile soaked granite growing into a paw, and then a clumsy, three fingered hand that grabbed at her by the torso. Another arm exploded from the sludge and buried itself in the wall of the brick building for balance as a squat lump of a head emerged, two tiny eyes glinting like bright stars atop a potbellied torso supported by comically small legs.

It's legs were not what concerned her now as the powerful construct's hand closed and Iruku felt her hardened bones creak, jaw clamping until she drew blood to hold back a cry of pain.

A rational part of her mind was still thinking, isolating the pain and concentrating on the how and the why instead. A construct like this couldn't be formed so easily on the spot, not by anything less than a full Square of Earth. Had it been formed left ready in the sewers as a contingency?

The golem shifted its weight forward and onto its off arm, the wall of the building giving way like a child's toy house.

"Now then, are you done struggling?" Foquet waved one cloaked hand, an almost theatrically exaggerated motion that had no place in a proper fight. How contemptible. "I'm not of a mind that would weigh lightly the killing of a woman."

"I wonder, would that be because you are one?" Iruku asked, it had occurred to her at the beginning of the fight, and it had been all but confirmed when the wind she had summoned had drawn her close enough to smell.

The cloaked body of Foquet fell still, face invisible in the shadows of her cowl. Iruku hid a savage smile. "I've changed my mind . . ." Stone knuckles creaked and ground together " . . . You die here." Too late, Iruku released a little more of her form, pouring her true self into human flesh that began to smear and blur like the mixing of pain on canvas.

Veins stood out from shoulder to wrist as skin roughened, bone grew, and corded muscle took shape. The Golem's thumb stopped, trembled, and then exploded into stone splinters, a blue scaled arm, long and misshapen, neither wholly draconic nor entirely human, swiped for the mage, tearing at her cloak as Iruku fought free.

The mage took one step back, regaining her balance upon the shoulders of her construct, and then, before Iruku could lay a hand to her, she was gone, sent flying in a gale of wind that carrier her across the sewer channel and through the wooden siding of a nearby building. Surprise caused the Golem to freeze up. Iruku, equally surprised, felt herself beginning to fall, the loss of concentration causing her human form to snap back into place just as she was caught by a pair of strong arms.

And then a voice that Iruku felt like she could have gone without hearing for a while longer.

"Miss Lutecce! Are you alright Ma'am?!" Sir Meinhardt asked. The fiery haired and classically featured Ensign spared her only a brief glance and a lingering expression of concern as he turned his attention to the construct, still alive, and tottering to face them.

"Fine, fine." Iruku muttered, only then thinking to examine herself and realize the wreck she had made of her dress. And just what a young male might provocatively think. "How . . ."

"Did we find you? Saw the dust kicked up Ma'am." Meinhardt said with a commendable degree of professionalism. "You're able to stand? Then with respect Ma'am. I'd withhold from asking any more questions until we've finished killing this bastard."

The Golem tilted its head, seeming to devote an inordinate amount of its miniscule intelligence to deciding which of the two it intended to quash out first. Its decision was interrupted as another wind hammer struck across the shoulder, sending torso torqueing to the side in a motion that dragged down the rest of the brick building the Golem had been using as a handhold.

A whistle drew Iruku and Meinhardt's attention skyward to a circling drake as another shower of wind spells peppered the granite behemoth, drilling holes that punched cleanly through shoulders, arms, and hands, and chipped at torso. The spellfire couldn't have been much more than gnat stings to a construct of that size. Accuracy mattered very little, a golem, being animate earth, had essentially no vital points.

A dragon in mid-flight, on the other hand, had a very great number of vital points, and the Golem did not need to be accurate to take a fistful of brick and mortar and throw it into the sky roughly where it expected Sir Holland and his dragon to be.

The first throw was all the Golem was given before being battered again, this time from its flank.

"Aye! You blooming eejiots! Are you going to stay down there all night looking pretty or are you going to help?" The cry came from a second figure, navigating fast over the rooftops on foot, a pair of sword-wands in hand alternating between wind strikes to keep the Golem off balance and more diffused gusts to keep aloft or change course in mid jump.

Ensign Trayvor landed running along the top edge of the channel in a gust of wind, face screwing up. "What is that _shit_ smell?"

"I think you answered you're own question." Meinhardt shouted back. "Miss Lutecce, I do believe we should be leaving now, Ma'am." The Knight shirked his jacket to unlimber himself. The Ensigns was a fire mage, and an infuriatingly good one at that. The jet of flame projecting from the end of his sword quickly grew to fill the entire width of the channel like a river of fire, and like a river breaking against a boulder, was parted by the oncoming Golem. "Blair, some help?!"

"What'd you think I'm doing? You're the one who dove down here to be a hero, not so easy flying back up! Bloody eejiot!"

Spellfire doubled up in a stream of hammer strikes that slowed but did not stop the behemoth that was leaning into a glacial charge, throwing up a wake of filth and yanking down the buildings to either side as it broke into a run, tearing up fistfuls of debris and hurling them in deadly clouds to keep them from escaping by air.

Help came again from the sky, wind turning to a hail of ice as a second dragon swept overhead, Flight Lieutenant Sir Allan Secord, Iruku surmised by the narrow headed and lithe bodied Wind Drake. He was followed by Sir Holland, flying higher and slower to add his own gales to the ice to the frost that was fast spread across the Golem's shoulders.

"So what do you call the person who follows the idiot?" Meinhardt shook his head. "Doesn't matter! Blair, follow Holland's lead, help cover that bastard in ice and we'll show you how you crack some stones!"

Standard procedure in destroying a Golem, Iruku gave her grudging approval as she was pulled along by the retreating Knight.

The Golem wasn't overly burdened by its coating of frost, the outer layers of granite cracking and splitting as ice pried at any and every fault. Then it was met by fire, and the slow expansion of ice became the explosive expansion of steam. Dragon's breath hit from above and flame whip's struck from below, aiming to shatter the golem all at once.

The flames obscured the lumbering brute, and then, trailing steam and sans left arm, cracks and craters revealing the hollowed interior of its torso, the golem lurched onward, legs churning through the flaming sludge that rose to its hips.

"Thing's not going to stop." Meinhardt grunted.

It wasn't going to stop until the animating magic was finally broken, either by damage or the death of its mage, Iruku knew. By now, it was probably following the thief's last command, to kill her at any cost. How unfortunate.

Ensign Trayvor's eyes went from the Golem, to the puddles of flaming muck, and then to Sir Meinhardt. With a shake of head, Blair signaled to the Knight. "I've got an idea. You're not going to like it."

"Try me!"

Blair gave the smallest of shrugs, gathering up into a magically bolstered leap and touching down behind them before beginning an extended chant. Iruku had picked up a rough understanding of the Sacred Pentagram language through her years, and she made out a few familiar words spoken with vaguely familiar diction, enough that she could guess at the fact that it was transmutation, and that the target was not the Golem.

The oozing sewer mucked started to bubble churn, and the smell became the least of Iruku's concerns as the air became thick with something that less stank and more burned at her nose and eyes, and every inch of exposes skin. No sooner had the Ensign finished the first chant than, with a wave of both wands, the fetid air was sent back into face of the Golem.

"Alright Meinhardt, try it again!"

"I don't think a stink bomb is going to do much!"

"Just do it!"

The flame mage's brow furrowed, and then his eyes widened, Iruku knew these humans were about to do something thoroughly unsensible, she was just along for the ride now.

"Miss Luttece." The Knight did his best to place his body between her and the Golem while Blair hurled every scrap of willpower into a wind barrier Unbeknownst to the Ensign, Iruku quietly added her own plea to the chant, bolstering still further.

Meinhardt squeezed his eyes shut as he threw an anemic fireball, barely more than an ember which preceded to spark, crackle, and then burst into brilliant blue flame.

Methane gas, at least, that was what Iruku surmised later. The muck that filled Kingston's sewer way would be a veritable mine of the stuff, and all that was needed was to distill it out in a timely fashion. The heavily reinforced Golem had endured fire and ice from without, but the combustible gas had not just hit from the outside, infiltrating the Golem's interior through the cracks and wholes in its chest. Ignited in such a small space, and weakened as it was, there had been little else for it to do but burst.

Heat guttered away in moments as the last of the fuel was consumed. Twenty tons of stone came apart all at once, taking some of the sewer walls with it, transforming from the vague shape of a man into a rock slide that had become divorced from its parent mountain. The wake of sludge that had followed behind the Golem became a wave that rolled down the sewer channel, striking against the wind barrier before continuing on unabated.

When the wave had passed, Meinhardt cracked an eye open to survey the destruction. He was at once both dismayed and impressed. Dismayed because all that was left of the Golem was a slowly settling pile of rubble, and impressed because, barring some singing and shattered glass, the nearest buildings appeared pristine.

"Not a bad bit of work, Ensign Trayvor." Meinhardt gave the slim Dragoon a solid pat on the back. "That'll be one to tell at the next card game."

"Yeah. I'd suppose you'd be right there." Blair answered in kind, adding, "You bloody eejiot."

"Now then," Meinhardt turned his attention away from Blair's handiwork and back to Iruku, "Miss Luttece, Ma'am, can I ask what you were . . . were . . . were . . . right . . ."

Iruku reminded herself that as a female she had to hold her pride above all else. She was a _proud_ daughter of a _proud _line or an intensely _proud_ and ancient race who could very much have saved herself if these humans hadn't decided to play hero.

This did little to salve the sour taste of humiliation, at least, she prayed that the taste was humiliation, as she struggled to get back to her feet, a task made exceedingly difficult by the greasy, slippery material that had long since devolved from the waste of any particular species and become more of an all-encompassing slime that was now busily soaking her clothes and hair.

"Miss Luttece?" At least Sir Meinhardt had forgotten his questions for now, yes, there was that at least to comfort herself with . . .

"Meinhardt, Blair!" The voice of Sir Holland carried from the street above, the mousy young man poking his head over the rim.

"Holland!" Blair waved up to young Knight. "You and Horus are alright?"

"Aye, we're fine!"

"And Lieutenant Secord?" Blair asked next.

"I'm right here Lads." The stocky Flight Leader came to stand over Sir Holland, something resembling bundled in fabric cast over his shoulder. "Well, the good news is that we caught the fellow riding that Golem." A vicious little part of Iruku rose up to seize at a small triumph. "The bad news is, well . . ." A shrug of the shoulders sent the cloaked body plummeting to the ground where struck with a clattering stone and wood.

The cloak was indeed the one that had been worn by the thief Foquet. Or rather, another of the thief's golems, a head shaped vaguely like a wooden seed hung limply from a thin metal neck. Though it had no face, Iruku liked to believe it was mocking her, it was better than the alternative.

A chill spread down Iruku's spine, starting at the top of her head and worming its way down her back. When she looked to the side, she found that it was Ensigns Trayvor and Meinhardt's doing, holding their wands over her head and conjuring a stream of clear water. The two stopped as Iruku skewered them with her glare.

"Ma'am." Both said with fearful sincerity.

"I just hope that you both understand," Iruku struggled with herself, she wouldn't not cry, she would not _cry_ in front of these _juveniles, "_That this has done very little to endear yourselves with me, Ensign Meinhardt, Ensigh Trayvor."

"Y-yes Ma'am." Both said at once.

"Lieutenant." Iruku trudged, sodden wet up to the sewer wall and accepted a hand from Ensign Holland to climb up. "Thank you for coming to rescue me, foolish girl that I am, I thought I could handle myself, but I should have left this to those better qualified. Now, I need to speak to Lieutenant Wells as soon as possible." She might at least be able to salvage something from this mess. Her pride demanded she at least try.

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><p>The sun was rising at her back by the time that Matilda, ex-Lady Saxe Gotha, neared her destination in the outskirts of Kingston on hull.<p>

Located outside the walls, and not considered worthy of much thought by the city proper, news of the 'Calamity' that had befallen their fair city, the death of Governor Barnard at the hands of an assassin, had been met more by bemusement and weary resignation than the fear that gripped at Kingston's heart.

The inhabitants of the city outskirts were mostly peasants and the occasional petty mage, indifferent to the whether the Governor lived or died except for wondering whether the new Lord Governor would be cruel or kind. Even the guards appeared less alert then they truly should, spread thin, and bone tired from the past night, giving Matilda no trouble now that curfew had ended as she wondered by in the clothes of a stable hand that she had . . . reallocated . . . to replace her requisitioned uniform.

It had been a long night, longer than Matilda would ever have bargained for before setting out. Dodging guard patrols and slipping past the checkpoints under the cover of opportune distractions, she'd had more than a few close calls. But if there was one thing a thief learned early in her career it was how to make an escape.

Matilda had spent a good deal of time that night doubling back on herself, taking the most circuitous and winding routes across the city's outskirts to ensure that she had shaken off any pursuit. But the city garrison had found much more pressing matters to attend to, and there had been no repeats of the lone madwoman who had thought to tail her into the city drainage.

She'd made good her escape, using her Golems to draw attention as she slipped off in the opposite direction, but the confrontation with the woman remained at the back of Matilda's mind even now. Not the least of which was because she had been able to divine Foquet's true gender. It might have been a simple ruse, but 'Eirn Luttece's' voice had rung with an unmistakable note of confidence. And it was that certainty which infuriated Matilda more than anything.

Part of the power of the thief Foquet was in his mystique, after all.

Women wanted to think he was a dashing young man, a fallen noble, or a bastard son. Someone they could swoon over in parlor rooms while reading novels with their friends.

Men passed about rumors that he was a deformed brute with horribly misshapen features that not even water magic could repair. A brutal man who enjoyed terrorizing his victims and would not hesitate to kill all in a house if he was discovered in the middle of a heist. If he was seen, then they best hide!

One woman's word was unlikely to be the end of a reputation that was years in the making, but who was to say it was only the word of one woman? The Knights who had come to her aid had seemed familiar with her, if she was one of the Governor's servants there was no telling what she'd seen or who else knew.

Which meant, there was no telling if Greer's men had been exposed thanks to this.

Cobblestone roads had given way to dirt some time ago and only now did Matilda permit herself the smallest lapse of attention. The specter of failure was bitter indeed, even as it was sweetened by the hope of success. And what she would have to report to Greer . . .

Matilda did not savor the thought, though she didn't particularly fear for her life either. Greer had a reputation as a businessman. He knew the risks when he asked for a job to be done. Most of all, rumors got around. Resorting to violence at every turn would have seen Greer quickly without prospects.

What Matilda feared was that failure would void payment, and at just such a time as she had become that much more desperate to get her sister and her charges _off_ of the White Isle.

Albion was no place for an Elf girl if the Faeries were involving themselves in something so brazen as assassination. If Lord Cromwell hadn't been thoroughly scouring the Kingdom for any hint of Faerie presence, he would be now, and Matilda had no doubt that any rumors that were uncovered would be thoroughly followed up. She had even less time now to get her sister and the children to safety.

It was enough to make her curse the Founder's name, and the Faeries too for even daring to spring into existence.

The dirt road that Matila had been following reached its end, unceremoniously depositing her in front of her destination. This was where the dead drop letter had told her to come find Greer. It made for a suitable hideout.

The weathered shack clinging to the edge of the cliffs had seen better days, half collapsed, its wood worn raw by winds and bitter cold nights, and its windows long since broken out and boarded over. The sign over its door still identified the establishment as the 'Crow's Nest', though the thief doubted that anyone could remember when last the place had been open for business.

Matilda saw no point in hesitating, pulling the cowl of her cloak lower to mask her already obscured features, and giving her surrounding the once over before knocking at the dry rotted door. Her knuckles produced a muted answer, and standing close, she was met by stirring noises that might have been someone moving within or, or might simply have been the whole building slumping further towards its final tumble off the edge of the cliffs.

She didn't have long to wait, though the answer didn't come by way of the door. A creaking of boards behind her, Matilda could tell that there were two of them, men who had doubtless been waiting for her to approach. These were Greer's sentries, keeping watch for the city patrols.

"Gentlemen?" Matilda greeted, handing the letter into their hands.

"Monsieur Foquet." The taller of the two fellows replied with a small bob of the head. As near as she could tell, both men were commoners, though the blackjacks that they held could as easily have been hiding a focus as a lead weight.

Rough men instructed to be polite by their employer, neither laid a hand on Matilda as she was led around to the backside of the buildings, hidden from the street by an unkempt hedge. A cellar door was uncovered from beneath a pile of rotting rope and held open by the short of the two guards as she was directed to proceed alone. "Mister Greer is waiting for you below."

"Quite the inviting reception it would appear." Matilda eyed the gloom cautiously. The sentries merely shrugged and bid her enter.

A short flight of stone steps took Matilda beneath the building and into a cellar that had been cut out of the rock face, less a hole in the ground and more a cleft in the cliffs which had been built over to provide natural walls on three sides. The fourth facing hung off the edge of the cliffs, comprising the first and second floor landings and the eastern corner of the cellar, or would have if there was anything left of the first and second floor landings, or the eastern corner of the cellar floor for that matter.

Though the walls were intact, the floors had not fared nearly so well, and either due to natural decay, or by design of the current inhabitants. Instead, Matilda was treated to a view of the mists beneath her feet, stretching all the way down to the sea.

"Ah, Monsieur Foquet. Good, you're here."

The only source of light was what managed to infiltrate through the boarded windows, from the holes in the ceiling, or from the gaping maw in the floor, and that was not nearly enough to banish the gloom and shadows, but it was enough to quite easily make out the rough looking men standing against the far wall, and the slightly stockier man busying himself with some sort of mechanical instrument, a body of black metal like a cross, the shorter arms bound and bent by dark corn.

As Matilda watched, Greer finished with his tampering and placed the mechanism so that the shorter arms of the cross were held between the floor and his boot, a soft clicking of well-oiled metal against metal filled the air as he began to work at some sort of winding mechanism.

Recognition came to Matilda, and with it, an urge to snort as it dawned what she was seeing. "A crossbow? Hardly the weapon of a Mage is it, Mister Greer?"

"A knife or a sword, they both kill equally, do they not Monsieur Foquet?" Greer asked as he lifted the weapon and sight down the length of a wickedly straight bolt of the same polished black metal as its bow. "Besides, I enjoy examining the merchandise for myself. So, what do you think?"

"A great many things." Matilda answered. "But I presume you mean to ask what I think of your toy." A man like Greer was bound to have eclectic interests. He'd had a reputation for trading in a good many things, the only constant being that they were contraband to be seized on sight.

"Fine work, a master craftsman's to be sure. If ever a Noble was to use a commoner's weapon it would be one such as this." Greer sounded quite pleased. "It'll put a bolt straight through a boar at full draw, and fires like a whisper at half. Kicks like a mule of course, but I cannot say I dislike this Faerie craftsmanship." The smuggler gave a small chuckle as he at last turned to meet Matilda face to face. "Faeries . . . quite the interesting folk, wouldn't you agree?"

"I would suppose so." Interesting was one way to put it, Matilda agreed, there were other ways as well, though much less flattering.

"Quite the deadly folk as well I should say." Greer shouldered his weapon, taking aim out over the gap in the floor before giving a small bird whistle that prompted one of his men to yank loose a rope tied to a peg in the wall.

A whirling noise above Matilda's head was followed a moment later by a -twang- as Greer's crossbow loosed its bolt, narrowly missing a sack that plummeted with its trailing rope down into the abyss. The smuggler clucked unhappily and went back to reloading the weapon.

"More than Governor Barnard was expecting in any case. So tell me, Monsieur Foquet, you've spent some time on the continent, in Tristain I hear. I suppose you know a little bit about them by now."

"The events of last night have piqued your interest?" Matilda asked.

"The Lord Governor is dead in the heart of my City." Greer's expression drained of all amusement. "And I am not the one who managed it. I am by every means _interested_." Cold eyes held level on Matilda as the seconds stretched.

"You want to know who among the Fae might have that sort of power." Matilda reasoned. Without going out of her way to search such people out, she could already provide something of a short list. It paid to be prepared after all.

"Who might have that power, and who would use it like this." Greer was winding his crossbow again as he answered. "I haven't lived this long by blessed ignorance. I have a vested interest in anyone who can walk into Kingston and kill the Lord Governor. So, what have the ears of a master thief heard about the Fair Folk."

Shouldering his bow again, another whistle and another of the weighted sacks was sent plummeting from the ceiling, this one intercepted by the path of the bolt with a meaty noise as it fell past. Matilda was very careful to avoid looking up because, well, because she was fairly sure that sack had been squirming. And really, she needed her wits about her at a time like this. She couldn't allow herself to be distracted so easily.

"You'd have an easier time listing the Faeries that _couldn't_ do this." Matilda supplied with some thought. "They have the power and the skill in abundance, what they lack would be the temperament for this kind of work." It took a certain sort of person to deliberately plunge a knife into another's back in the dark, and those sorts of people appeared to be no more common among the Fae than among humans. "I would think most would be either outcasts or retainers to one of the Faerie Lords."

"Their high nobility, Aye." Greer mused.

"Something of the sort." Though the truth was both more complicated and more conflicting than Matilda could even begin to explain. "The Lords would be the likeliest to retain the services of people who could do this. Lord Zolf's bodyguards, trained assassins, or Lady Morgiana's free company, or else one of the Faerie Knights. In any case, the Fae are on good terms with Tristain's Queen, I can't imagine she didn't have a hand in this."

"The little girl who's taken her Mother's throne." Greer sounded almost dismissive until he added. "If that is the case, then some of her father's line is starting to show in her."

A dim prospect for Tristain, Matilda thought. "The Governor's assassination may have been due to nothing more than his ties to Reconquista. Whether he was an intended target or the merely one of opportunity, well, you'd be better furnished to determine that yourself." Matilda neither claimed to be, nor fancied herself a master assassin, killing was always an act of last resort in her profession.

"Retribution for the death of the Prince's family then?" Greer sounded contemplative. "Or maybe for their own dead."

"No doubt a little of both. The Queen would certainly order it for the former. Her assassin would be doing it for the latter I'm sure."

"Hmm." The smuggler appeared contemplative. Rather than reloading, he began to stroke the body of the weapon in his hands as he paced. "Barnard was either the only target or the first of many, at least, if there is another killing I won't expect it to stop with just two. This could be problematic."

"Oh?" Matilda asked, tilting her cowled head.

"I do not like unknown's interfering in my plans, Monsieur Foquet. Unknowns are . . . well . . . bad for business I should say. As you've no doubt experienced first hand, if what I've heard about a Golem rampaging in the Noble Quarter is to be believed." Greer's expression returned to his prior look of amusement.

"That is what I wanted to speak to you about." Matilda carefully resisted the urge to chew her lip. "I may have been spotted, in the company of your men." Better to admit fault than leave Greer to think he'd been deceived. Mistakes were on things, but betrayals . . . the thief had to try very hard not to look up at the rafters.

"I already suspected that Tobeis and his men might be compromised." Greer surprised Matilda by agreeing. "The price of spies is that they'll eventually be found out. That's why I sent word to them last night to slip away from their posts. I've lost most of my eyes in the Governor's mansion now. No matter, I hardly need them with Barnard going to his grave."

Greer sounded not only unperturbed but absolutely pleased with the night's outcome, not what Matilda had been expecting at all.

"And what about the Heel Stone?" Matilda took a measured step forward. "Without your men, how do you intend to retrieve it?" Security around the Governor's mansion was going to be kept tight until his affairs were settled, who knew how long it would take to return to retrieve Greer's prize.

"You managed to hide the stone as planned, did you not?" Greer handed his crossbow to one of his men and adjusted the cuffs of his blouse. "It shouldn't be found easily."

"A mage could detect it with soundings, but they'd need to know exactly where to look." Matilda agreed.

She hadn't simply formed a hollow around the stone like some novice. A void in the wall might be detected. Instead, she'd made the extra effort to reform the foundation around the Heel Stone, being as exact as possible all the while. Only a skilled earth mage would detect the discrepancy, and it would take a master Geomancer to realize what it meant.

"I have ways to be alerted if the Heel Stone is uncovered. So long as it remains out of the hands of the Reconquistadors my client will be satisfied." Greer answered the thief's unasked question. "Your services were as superb as promised. As for my end of the bargain . . ." Matilda listened closely " . . . I can't give you a ship to do with as you please. But I can offer you passage on a brig that will be arriving at the end of the month. That should give you ample time to finish any business you have here on the Isle."

"My thanks, Mister Greer." Matilda half bowed, and half whispered an almost sincere prayer to the Founder.

"No thanks are necessary." Greer's expression grew dull again. "I'm merely in a good mood today, hearing that Barnard is dead. It help that the distraction last night spared me a close encounter with the Governor's attack dog." The smuggler craned his head up the rafters. "Isn't that right?"

Matilda finally permitted herself to look up and see what she'd known had been there since Greer had started speaking. There were only two left, judging by the pulleys hanging from the rafters, there had been six to start with. Six rough sacks, bound up in rope and wriggling like a spider's pray caught in the web. Heads poked out of the mouth of each sack, gagged, but left without blindfolds, the better to see their fate coming.

"You know, I am a very _forgiving _man. Incompetence I can forgive, failure I can forgive, but what I cannot forgive is betrayal." Greer said as he paced over to the wall and the anchoring ropes. "The Founder instructs us not to judge fault in others lest we find that fault in ourselves. That's a very _noble_ lesson."

It occurred to Matilda that one of the terror stricken faces was familiar to her, he'd been one of the men with Greer when they had first met, one of his guards, which would explain what Greer meant by a near encounter the night before. It appeared he wasn't the only one to have men on the inside.

Perhaps if Barnard had moved a day earlier against Greer he could have at least seen the smugglers head on a pike before his own death, and the men handing by their feet might have been rewarded handsomely.

How quickly the tables were turned.

"There's just one problem you see." Greer sighed. "I am neither a Nobleman nor a _Noble _man."

Without looking away, Greer whistled to the men at his back, the remaining lines were snapped free. The last glimpse Matilda caught was of the fearful tears as the bodyguard disappeared, plummeting to his death in a weighted sack.

"Now then." Greer went on as if he'd ordered nothing more than the clearing of dishes after a meal. "Shall we finalize arrangements, Monsieur Foquet?"


	33. Chapter 8 Part 1: Schooldays

Author's note: And now to give myself a lovely opportunity to cool off. As usual, read and review.

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><p>Halkegenia Online v3 - Chapter 8 - Part 1<p>

Days had always started early for Tsushima Namiko, first as the only daughter of a teacher, then in college, and finally as a teacher herself. Namiko's days began with the sunrise, and whether she was in Japan or across the Universe, that had not changed.

The morning descended over Arrun, starting from the trunk of the World Tree before kissing the top of Arrun tower and finally spilling over the rooftops of the city districts until it reached Namiko's window, the light striking in just such a way as to elicit the smallest frown and a petulant desire to pull the covers over her head. But that really wasn't something she could allow herself.

Oh well.

Stirring slowly, and then scrunching her face, Namiko reluctantly began to untangle herself from the pleasant warmth of her comforter and sat up slowly, parting a few strands of unruly blue hair like curtains as she first rubbed at her eyes and then spread slim hands across her cheeks.

A yawn, quickly stifled as she stretched, a motion that felt entirely too _good_. None of the familiar aches greeted her. Instead, a pleasant warmth began to spread from her chest, working its way into her extremities. Arms falling to her side, eyes still closed and nose twitching furiously, Namiko set about on the morning ritual that she had kept for the last three months.

Pale feet touched the floor reluctantly, toes curling as the slip of a Faerie girl rose from her bed and stumbled in her nightgown to her dresser and its wash basin.

The water felt ice cold to her skin, an almost electrified caress that widened her eyes and wiped the last traces of sleep from her mind. Drying her face with a hand towel, Namiko caught sight of her reflection in the basin water and paused.

She supposed that she was taking longer than most to grow accustomed to the pretty young face that confronted her every morning in the mirror, maybe because she had lived quite a bit longer with her old face than most and seen it thicken and gray over the years. Namiko pursed thin peach lips as her gaze wondering across her reflection. Clear, bright blue eyes, long blue hair feathering messily across her forehead and down her back, and lovely pale skin without a single blemish.

It was the lovely face of a lovely girl, the girl she had become, shrugging off the decades, the unwanted aches and wrinkles, and the very unwanted kilos in the mass spiriting away that had simply come to be called the Transition. No explanation, no insight, an impossible event with impossible results. And with that in mind, the expression of the girl in the mirror turned melancholic, she felt almost ashamed at the fact that she could even think of enjoying it.

The Transition had stolen away so much from so many, and nothing it had given could justify what had been taken. If she'd been given the chance, Namiko would have given it all back without a second thought if only for the power to send them all home.

But that wasn't a power she possessed, either as Tsushima Namiko, fifty year old elementary school teacher, or as the Water Faerie Irene, a casual player of the VRMMO ALfheim online for less than a week and now a teacher once again, following in the steps of her past life. It had been all she could think to do, to accomplish something to ease the pain and grief she saw all around her, and in doing so, to soothe her own loss.

'When in doubt, do what you know.'

What Namiko knew was teaching, and children, and how to _teach_ children. And there were so _many_ children, torn from their families, lost when their safe game had become a frightening and dangerous reality.

Some were older, almost old enough to take care of themselves, some were lucky to have friends or Guild Mates who had accepted the burden of looking out for them. The luckiest had been reunited with their family, relatives, siblings, or even parents.

But for ever happy reunion there was another child who had no one to turn to, no one they could trust. Irene had decided that they could at least trust her. Thus had been born Arrun Home, one woman's meager effort to help as best she could.

And in that regard she could at least be grateful for being gifted the energy to accomplish the monumental task she had set for herself, keeping up with nearly a hundred, young, exuberant, and magical children. A gift that came with its own price as it turned out.

As a teacher, Namiko was used to having the authority to keep boys and girls in line. But authority proved to be somewhat difficult to come by now. Children, after all, were more inclined to call her 'Onee-chan' now rather than 'Sensei', a tendency that was at once endlessly flattering and immensely frustrating.

Having become young again, she found herself wishing to be a little older.

'But that's not going to stop you.' Namiko told herself firmly. 'You're a seasoned teacher. You'll keep those kids in line and make sure they all get what they need!' whether that was praise or a timeout.

The trick was leveraging what she had, she thought as she slipped out of her night gown and began to dress.

She'd lain out her clothes the night before, a blue, floral print kimono, one of the few items in her wardrobe even now. She simple didn't _need_ anything else, not when she was always so busy around the Home. More importantly, it was familiar, and comfortable, and certainly seemed to help make her look older, or at least more old fashioned.

A pair of elevated sandals bought her a few precious centimeters, and keeping her hair up in a tight little bun did wonders to make her look more like a dignified young woman rather than a bossy teenage girl. At least, that was how she hoped she looked.

Adjusting her collar and cuffs, Irene took a breath, put on a brave face and hurried for the door. Slipping down the quiet halls, the other teachers and the older children would be rising soon, and there was still a lot to do to prepare for the start of the day.

As if a reminder, Irene felt her stomach growl. First on the agenda was breakfast.

Feeding a hundred hungry mouths was no easy task, especially in the mornings, but it was also essential. Breakfast wasn't just the most important meal of the day for the children. It was integral to their morale. Humans spoke in their actions as well as their words, and a fresh, hot breakfast, even if it was simply eggs, oatmeal and juice, told the children in no uncertain terms that they were cared for.

And of course, the scent of cinnamon was usually more than enough to coax even the late risers from their beds.

The kitchens had been half the reason Irene had gone to such lengths to snag the Guild Hall that had become Arrun Home, a space nearly half the size of the dining hall that it serviced and which completely took up one corner of the Hall's ground floor. Stone topped counters competed for space with tiled wash basins, and a row of ovens and cooking hearths dominated the entire North wall.

By the time she arrived, Irene found that the morning cooking group had already started, older children under the watchful supervision of one of their teachers.

"Good morning Ophelia-sensei." Irene greeted the tall, golden haired Puca woman with a small nod and a smile. "I didn't expect to see you up. You're becoming an early riser."

For her part, the Puca gave a small yawn and a tired shake of her head. "Early rise? More like I didn't fall asleep. Second floor had nightmares again last night. I was up with the kids."

"Oh?" Irene perked up. "Why didn't you call for me?" Each of the children under their care was different, and each one had coped with the Transition in a different way, but one thing that had been uniform had been the nightmare, dreams of falling or being pulled away by . . . _something_. Vague, indistinct, and terrifying, and all that could be done was to be there for the children when they woke up. "We could have traded time on watch at very least."

Ophelia tugged at one of her golden ringlets. "You were already up all yesterday night. It's not fair for us to depend on you so much. Besides . . . " Her expression growing a little less confident " . . . I don't think the kids wanted me to leave. They're getting pretty comfortable around me these days."

Irene opened her mouth to reply, thought better of it, and smiled instead. It was interesting to see a college professor deferring so readily to a mere elementary school teacher, though sensible from what the Undine had gathered about her Puca companion.

Ophelia had never had children of her own, an experience that they shared, although in Ophelia's case it had been voluntary, whereas for Namiko, she'd simply been so busy with her job that she'd never paid it much mind until one day she'd looked up and realized her hair was graying and she'd begun to get wrinkles and the chance of a family had passed her by. It hadn't upset her greatly, the children she had devoted herself to teaching had always been enough for her, and now they might even be too much.

She was grateful for the other instructors, Ophelia most of all, for taking up some of the burden. They were all coming along nicely Irene thought, just a few short months ago Ophelia would have treated a room full of unruly children as if it were a cage of wild animals, but now she was starting to leap in on her own.

Irene noted the big pots being filled with water and placed over the fires, the volunteers preparing the meal, a knock at the kitchen door signaled the arrival of Takai and four more of the older boarders with crates of fresh eggs. Everything was turning along so smoothly that she hardly had any reason to busy herself in the kitchen and decided to hurry to the dining room to make sure the tables were set, only to find Silica and Yuki, two of the older boarders, laying out the last of the silverware and glasses.

A full night's sleep, breakfast was getting made on time, and the table dining room was all set up for when the rest of the children started waking up. None of those things wereunprecedented, but it was rare for all three to get done without her help. Irene didn't know whether that made her feel relieved or useless.

"Good morning Irene-sensei." Silica looked up when she drew near and smiled courteously while a sharp, blue feathered head poked out from between her large ears like a novelty hat, regarding Irene with very serious ruby red eyes.

The young-again Undine smiled back. "Good morning Silica-chan, I hope you and Pina had a good night's rest. Did the hammock idea work out well?"

"Un." The young Cait's ears twitched with delight. "Pina has he her own little nest now, she loves it!"

"Kyaa!" The diminutive pet dragon perched atop Silica's shoulders chirped her approval.

"I'm so glad." Irene clasped her hands together. "And I see that you and Yuki have gone ahead with setting the tables this morning. I do hope you'll be staying long enough to have breakfast this time." She arched one slender blue brow as the girl squired. "Silica-chan?"

The young Cait girl had been a late arrival and a wonderful help around the Home, part resident, and part minder for the younger children. Children who sometimes needed someone other than their teachers to confide in. Silica seemed to have natural talent for it, like she knew just the right things to say as each child came to grips with what had happened.

If only she and her partner in crime hadn't started taking on courier contracts in their spare time. Courier work, it sounded more dangerous than it was, Irene knew that Silica and Yuki kept to the well-traveled routes along the tower ways, but it did often take them far from home if the stories they told the younger children were any indication, and the a few close calls had trickled back to the Undine over the past weeks.

"It's nothing big, Lady Alicia wants to see us!" Silica blurted. "We'll be back for dinner!"

"Silica!" Yuki called from across the room.

Irene frowned. So they'd planned to just sign out at the front desk and sneak off!

"We finished all of our class assignments." Yuki added innocently.

Rubbing at her temples, Irene sighed. These girls were going to give her gray hairs all over again. "The two of you . . . Does Takai-sensei know about this?!"

The Imp and the Cait nodded earnestly. "We wouldn't leave without letting someone know where we'd went." Silica said.

"Whatever it is that Alicia-sama wants with you two, be sure she knows she has to speak with me if it's a request."

"Un." Both girls nodded.

"And be sure to be back by sunset."

"Un."

"And be sure you both get a roll from the kitchen, you shouldn't head off hungry."

"Un!"

What more could she do? Irene watched the girls hurrying off, Yuki adding a grin and an exaggerated wave of her arm. Sometimes the ones who were brave enough to thrive in this world were the ones who were the hardest to deal with. Better that they channel that energy though then let it go to waste, or worse, mischief.

Finding herself with a rare spot of free time, the Undine had found something to keep herself busy with in the form of a leather bound book, a mathematics manual which, after a good deal of haggling with the Head Librarian, she'd managed to get on indefinite loan. Most of the third through sixth grade curriculum had been thoroughly burned into the back of her head a very long time ago, but she'd always found she was more confident and better prepared to answer questions if she reviewed first.

'They should be learning long division and multiplication.' It would be hard work playing catch up for some, and tedious review for others, but once she finished getting everyone on the same page they could move onto some more sophisticated geometry and basic algebra.

The other teachers would see to their own lesson plans. Ophelia was responsible for grammar lessons, and they had found a Cait Syth named Vincen who was qualified to teach science. Takai, a man with no other qualification than having been a devoted older brother to three younger sisters had taken it upon himself to teach defense classes for the children who were old enough.

That had left the History and Geography lessons. Admittedly, Earth's Geography might as well have been a map of Middle Earth, and right now, it was more important that the children be able to navigate Tristain than modern Japan. So 'Earth Geography' had been folded into history, or more accurately 'History of the Homeland' taught by a soft spoken Leprechaun named Fujiwara.

Similarly, a primer on Halkegenian history had been appended to the Geography class being taught by Jean Boulanger, a junior lawyer of the legal collegiate and one of the two human tutors hired with funds provided by Lord Rute. The second tutor, Nadia Stepweiss, a half Germanian woman eager to see the Faerie cities for herself, had been brought on to teach basic spelling and grammar so that the children could learn to read and write in Tristanian and not simply converse in it.

Classes were broken up throughout the day with rotations so that no one teacher had to be responsible for more than two dozen students at a time. Coupled with lunch breaks, chores, and after class workshops, it didn't leave much time for the children to be idle. Less time to think meant less time for them to think about home, after all.

"Can you believe this?"

"Hmmm?" Irene found herself drawn back to the present, looking up from her book.

Over the years, she'd grown very good at blocking out distractions, even the clammer of a hundred voices shouting above each other at the eight big dining tables that filled the hall. Bright morning light was pouring in through the tall windows of the eastern wall. The smell of breakfast was thick in the air, accompanied by the warm fragrance of tea around the staff table.

Takai held up the broadsheet he'd been reading and slapped the headlines. "This! General Eugene and Lady Morgiana have declared their intent to be married."

"Eugene and Morgiana?" Ophelia held her tea cup to her lip and savored the aroma. "Yeah, I can see that. He seems like the type who would fall for an amazon."

Never one to give up easily, Takai shook his head. "The point is that it's sending the wrong message. Honestly, what is Lord Mortimer thinking allowing this?"

"That it's his brother's decision perhaps?" Vincen suggested, the slender Cait man giving a fanged smile as mischief danced in his large golden eyes.

"And what message, exactly, are they sending?" Putting down his own copy of the ALfheim Daily, Fujiwara assumed a relaxed posture in his chair, leaning back until he was tottering on just two legs.

Short and slight, the traditional Leprechaun build, with features no older than Irene's own, Fujiwara still gave the impression of a much older man in both mannerisms and his dress. Irene had been too polite to ask, but she suspected he had to be at least in his thirties. His metallic silver-white hair only seemed to exaggerate that impression of hidden age.

Takai crossed his arms over his chest, legs set to either side of his chair, an authoritative scowl displayed prominently on his serious features. "If it isn't obvious, did they even know each other IRL, or are those two LARPing even harder than most."

"Surely, you can't be serious." Ophelia looked bemused.

"I'm always serious!" Takai insisted. "And stop calling me that. Look, the Lords have a responsibility to protect us and to find a way home. I get that we might never . . . erm . . ." The Salamnder stopped as he remembered where he was, and the children happily chattering at the other tables. They certainly didn't need to hear something like that. "Well . . . You know. It might not happen. Give it a couple of years and I could understand, or if they were an item IRL. But it's only been a few months. What does it look like if one of the Lords and our General make a spectacle?"

"Well, at least that doesn't look likely." Fujiwara placed his index finger under a line of text. "Sounds like it's going to be a traditional wedding, and the ceremony will be private. The reception afterward will be limited to invited guests."

"So very low key." Ophelia mused as she prodded her eggs with her fork.

"Don't play with your food." Irene advised.

"I like my yolks mixed with my whites." The Puca answered, reading her elbow against the table. "Maybe she's pregnant."

"What?!" Someone could have been forgiven for thinking Takai was taking personal offense as he half rose from his seat.

"It's possible, I suppose." Irene agreed.

Saito had told her all about it during lunch not too long ago, the reports of pregnancies that had been sprouting up. One of the responsibilities of each city's clinic was to report back to the Arrun Central Hospital with important information about public health. Diagnosed pregnancies were just one trend that was being closely monitored, and while the papers had reported an estimated pregnancy rate as high as five percent among female Faeries, what they had failed to mention was that those were the conservative estimates. Saito had expressed concerns that the number could be much higher, even going into the double digits.

Thousands of newborns by the end of the year, Irene closed her eyes. They just weren't ready for something like that.

The Undine's only comfort was that among the nearly two dozen severely out of time children under her care, none had displayed any signs of being caught up in the promiscuity that had struck Arrun in the wake of the Transition. Maybe it wouldn't be all bad. Maybe a Lord coming forward would draw the right sort of attention to the matter.

Vincen stroked at his clean shaven chin. "It certainly wouldn't be the first shotgun wedding in history."

"But that's in . . . But that's insane." Takai lowered his voice, looking now utterly mortified. "It's even worse than I've expected!"

"I heard from some friends in Arrun Tower that Lady Morgiana might have put on a little weight in the last couple of weeks." Ophelia shrugged. "Could just be that she's coping by hogging all the desserts."

"Since when do _you_ know people who work in Arrun tower?" Vincen took a sip of his juice. "Look, does it matter one way or another? I say that if they're taking responsibility there isn't much of a problem."

"It's a problem if it's allowed to become a problem." Fujiwara noted. "I'd be more worried about how our hosts would feel about it." He looked down the table to the two instructors who had remained politely silent. "Though I suppose we could just ask them."

Mister Boulanger looked up from his oatmeal, appearing politely ignorant of the discussion that had been raging around him. Small, scholarly, with a balding head and well-groomed mustache, Boulanger was practically the definition of a professor, and being trained by the Legal Collegiate he was probably the best equivalent in Tristain.

When it became clear that the rest of the staff were looking for an answer and wouldn't be satisfied without one, he simply gave an apologetic wave. "It's not a simple thing to be honest. Marriages of convenience are not a new thing, of course, and it should not be of great concern if the proper course of action is followed, as it appears to be."

"I'm sensing a but." Takai growled.

"But, if what you're saying it true, it would make it a first in its own right thanks to you Faeries. And if there's anything the Nobility likes to make a ruckus about, it's the firsts. Of course," Boulanger shrugged and took another bite of his breakfast, "It doesn't matter until we know if it is or it isn't."

"Monsieur Boulanger is certainly better equipped to say." Miss Stepweiss, a plump and fiery haired little woman offered politely. "But I should hope it wouldn't be made into a spectacle."

"And what do you think, Irene-sensei." Takai sullen red eyes rested on her.

"I think . . ." The small Undine rose from her seat. "That I'll be late too class. Excuse me."

* * *

><p>This was it.<p>

It had been the thought which had dominated Kirigaya Yui's attention from the second she'd woken up that morning and for the forty seven hundred and nineteen seconds since as she'd gotten ready. Eating breakfast with her Aunt Suguha, washing up, and very carefully getting dressed for the special occasion.

Her hair had been neatly combed and decorated with a white ribbon. Her black shoes were polished to a gloss. And the Pretty white dress Aunt Suguha had helped her pick out was perfectly pressed, not a seam was out of place. Everything was Perfect, exactly like her reference material said it should be.

It was her first day of school after all. She wanted to make a good impression.

The former MHCP-AI, now a young Maeve girl in the world of Halkegenia, was filled with a feeling of anxious Anticipation, excitement that had made her impatient to go to sleep the night before.

And now that today was finally here, she almost didn't know what to do with herself.

"Good morning Yui-chan, Kirigaya-san." Said the Undine in blue floral kimono standing outside the classroom. Hands tucked into her sleeves, smiling kindly as she looked from Yui to her Aunt Suguha, Irene-sensei really looked exactly like a serene school teacher. "Are you ready for the big day?"

"Un!" Yui nodded eagerly and then paused as she felt the grip on her hand tighten by seven percent.

Yui looked up at the Sylph holding her hand. Aunt Suguha was dressed for work, white blouse and cream colored pants under a bright green jacket that had been closed at the waist. Her hair was kept back today by a simple cord in place of her favorite floral hair piece, and only jewelry she wore were a pair of simple, gem studded ear rings. The Sylph's sword rested lightly on her hip, along with a half dozen belt pouches that contained potions, one-time items, and a small numbered badge.

Just like Irene-sensei looked like a teacher, Aunt Suguha looked like a member of the city watch. She also looked anxious, her eyes not really focusing on Irene-sensei or the wall behind her.

Yui tilted her head and blinked rapidly as she tried to resolve the conflict between her observations and what her Social Scripts had predicted. She was the one who would be going out on her own today, but Aunt Suguha was the one who was getting nervous.

"Thank you so much for taking her, Irene-sensei." Aunt Suguha bowed to the young Undine teacher and Head of Arrun Home. "And after everything else. I know it's a lot to ask."

The Irene-sensei never lost her smile as she shook her head. "It's never too much to ask that we make room for one more. And the other children already love having Yui-chan with us."

"Is that so? Oh." The Sylph's eyes hovered on Irene-sensei and then to the classroom door before turning doubtfully back to Yui.

Another cloud of blinks faded as Yui came to a decision, tugging at the older girl's arm for attention and smiling brightly. "It's okay Aunt Sugu, I'm going to have a lot of fun today."

The little reminder was enough for her Aunt to catch herself, a smile returned to her face as she leaned down so that they were eye to eye. "Of course you are Yui-cha. First days can just be a little scary is all, even though they shouldn't be. I'm just doing all the worrying for you, okay?"

Yui thought about telling her aunt that what she was saying didn't make very much sense, but it made the older girl happy. When she smiled, she really meant it. So instead, Yui simply nodded and smiled back. "Un."

"You don't need to worry at all, Kirigaya-san." Irene-sensei placed a hand on Yui's shoulder. "She'll be just fine with us. Are you ready to be properly introduced, Yui-chan?" Another small nod as Yui hefted the satchel she and her mama had picked out together. Before today, its use had been as a book bag, but now it carried her stationary and notebooks.

The distant sound of bells caused Yui's ears to perk. Octave Match Her internal timer reported the change of the hour three point eight seconds later. Aunt Suguha's eyes widened slightly and she gave an apologetic bow. "That's the nine-o-clock bell. I'm sorry but I need to get going. I'm on shift until six tonight. Yui-chan, you'll be okay staying until then, right?"

"I'll be fine Aunt Sugu!" Yui insisted, putting her hands against the taller Sylph girl and leaning into a push. "Hurry up or you'll be late!" Honestly, sometimes Aunt Suguha needed a lot of looking after!

"Alright, alright, I'm going. Have fun with your friends today, Yui-chan. And be sure to tell me everything tonight, promise!"

"I promise!" Yui so swore, taking her oath very seriously as she put her hands on her hips. Her Aunt gave a last wave farewell as she ran for the door and the open sky.

"Such a serious young woman." Irene-sensei covered her mouth to hide a small smile. "You're lucky to have such a responsible family Yui-chan. Your aunt has been helping you with your studies too, hasn't she? I do hope my list helped you catch up."

Yui nodded. "It was lots to learn, but I think I understand most of it now."

"So it was enough then?" The Undine girl sounded pleased and also relieved. "If there's anything you have questions about don't hesitate to ask."

In reality, the list of books her teacher had given her had only comprised a few megabytes of data. Yui had read them as quickly as she had been able to turn the pages. But data was only a small part of accessing Information.

Associating all of the data she had absorbed had been far more time consuming and process intensive. Creating the intricate network of connections that transformed data into Facts and gave rise to Intuition. That was where she'd run into trouble. So much was dependent on Context and Metaphor that Yui was sure she would have been hopelessly lost without Aunt Suguha's help.

The Undine's smile softened as she guided Yui towards the classroom door. "I admit this is a first for me Yui-chan."

"Oh?"

The Undine girl nodded, and then she still smiled, it had become a little less sure. "I've never taught any children quite like you, so I hope you'll be patient with me while I learn."

Irony Yui started to giggle, even if it wasn't very appropriate. "But you're the one who's supposed to teach me Irene-sensei! Don't worry. You don't have to give me special attention. I'm pretty smart."

Irene-sensei began to say something, caught herself, and smothered a fit giggles with her hand. "I suppose we'll be teaching each other then, Yui-chan. How to teach, and how to be taught that is." Irene placed her hand on the door, pausing to let Yui prepare herself.

Just as Mama and Papa treated her like their real daughter, the Undine girl had done her best to treat Yui exactly like any other little girl ever since she had first visited Arrun Home. That hadn't changed even when she had been told the truth about Yui and her true nature. Not for the first time, the young Maeve was grateful that Irene-sensei was one of the people who knew about her.

Yui understood the reason she had to keep her secret. The little Maeve girl had not needed her sensory powers when her parents had explained. Her Mama and Papa hadn't tried to hide anything from her. They had _wanted_ to scare her. They had wanted to be sure she would be extra careful because it was about staying safe.

The door swung open easily with a faint -creek- and the doorway erupted with light and noise, the voices of two dozen children chattering as they waited for class to start.

This was what Aunt Suguha had called Homeroom Yui thought as she paused at the threshold to observe. Children, lots of them, clustered around desks, chattering or working on assignments as they waited for class to start. It was Louder than she had expected. So loud that Irene-sensei had to raise her voice just to be heard.

"Alright. Alright everyone. Settle down please." The Undine teacher was barely fazed as she took her place at the front of the class, calling for everyone's attention and only continuing when the last voices had faded. "It's time to begin lessons. Talia-chan."

A Leprechaun girl with short, golden hair, stood up from her desk in the front corner of the room. "Class stand." A clatter as everyone rose from their chairs. "Bow." The motion rippled through the room and Yui imitated almost without thinking about it. "Sit." Another clatter as the children fell back into their seats.

"Thank you Talia-chan." Irene said, looking over the whole class. "Class, we have a new student joining us today, someone I'm sure lots of you have already had a chance to meet."

Yui didn't need to use her Advanced Sensing abilities to hear the mumbling starting back up again as someone noticed her waiting by the door and then alerted their neighbors. Eyes turned to her as the hushed voices crossed the room like a wave before fading. Irene waited for them die down on their own before continuing.

"Yui-chan, don't be shy, please come and introduce yourself to your classmates."

Everyone was looking at her now, some curious, some excited like her. And that was when Yui realized that Aunt Suguha had been right about something. It _was_ a little Scary being watched by everyone as she stepped into class for the first time, an uncomfortable Prickling sensation crawled up her back and her legs got wobbly. But it wasn't scary enough to stop her.

Walking to the front of the room, Yui turned to face the class, eyes flickering as she picked out the familiar faces from the crowd and she realized the source of this odd feeling of Anxiety. For every person she recognized, there was one she did not.

Yui had met almost everyone who lived at Arrun Home, but there were lots more children than that in Arrun. Some lived with family, and others were taken in by their guild mates. Arrun Home provided lodgings to the children who were without guardians and a place to stay, but the school run by the staff was open to everyone who could attend. That meant she would be meeting lots of people for the first time today. It was a little Overwhelming was all.

Observation New people were just friends she hadn't met yet.

With that in mind the faint feeling of worry faded, Yui smiled. "I'm Kirigaya Yui." She bowed. "I'm so happy to meet everyone."

"Yui-chan was suffering from an illness for a long time, so she wasn't able to go to school regularly." Irene explained to the class. "She's spent the last little while catching up in self-study so that she could join us here. I hope you all will be patient and help her if she has any trouble adjusting. Now then, Yui-chan, you can take the empty seat in the second row if you like, the one behind Talia-chan."

And like that, the introductions were done and the scariest part was over. There were a few whispered greetings from her friends as she took her seat, Balandene, sitting two seats over, waved covertly as she passed. Beside his sister, Bardiche's eyes lingered, a small frown growing on the Sylph boy's face before he looked back to the board.

"Alright then everyone, we're going to start back up from where we left off with long division. Now I'm sure you all recognize this." Irene-sensei took a piece of chalk and began to write out a trivial mathematical equation. Sixty eight divided by two. "Now then, can anyone tell me what we do first? Nana-chan?"

"We have to rearrange the problem first for long division!" Answered an older looking pig tailed Spriggan girl wearing a bracelet around the wrist of her raised hand.

"That's exactly right, long divisions notation is written like this." The tapping of chalk became constant as Irene-sensei started in on her lecture. "I know it looks a little complicated now, but this makes it easier to keep track of all of the steps."

Opening her satchel, Yui extracted the notebook she'd been told to bring and opened it to the first blank page. She didn't really need to take notes when she could just archive the board and Irene-sensei's lectures, and that was besides the fact that arithmetic was trivial, but it would look suspicious if she didn't follow along with the other children.

And besides, she wanted to take notes, she wanted to watch, and listen, and learn, and so badly understand as much as she could. There was so much knowledge that she was missing and lots of it, she had discovered, wasn't written down. Mostly, she just wanted what other little girls wanted.

When she had been born, Yui had existed in a world of pure information. As SAO's MHCP-AI, there had been almost no place within Game World Aincrad which she could not observe, nor any player save Kayaba Akihiko himself whose Nerve Gear telemetry and players stats she could not access instantly.

The closest definition Yui had found to describe that power was Omniscient.

And yet she had been a prisoner too, just like the players, even more so as she was forced to watch and forbidden to intervene. Confined to the servers of SAO, Yui had never even seen the outside world that her Mama and Papa had come from. There was Context that she simply lacked when she was with her parents or even just with her friends. And that was why she was so eager to be here now, taking class like a Normal Child.

Just like the other children, she was here to learn. She just wasn't here to learn the same things.

Social Cues Yui's attention focused on the children around her, some listening intently to the lecture while others looked less interested or were actively struggling.

Bardiche was resting his cheek in his hand, scribbling out calculations as he worked ahead. Bored. Meanwhile, his sister sitting right next to him was the exact opposite. Balandene carefully read her notes and then compared them to the ones on the board, scratching at her head before crossing out her answer and trying again. Frustrated

The attentive children, like Talia, raised their hands the most when Irene-sensei asked for answers, each trying to reach higher into the air as if they could cover up the people behind them. Most of the time the teacher picked one of the raised hands, but three times so far she had picked students like Bardiche and asked for the answer to the question on the board.

The first one had been Nana, the Spriggan girl hadn't gotten the problem right but had hurried ahead anyways, treating the assignment like a race. "Your answer was very close, but you mustn't skip steps Nana-chan, remember to perform multiplication to check your answer." Irene-sensei had urged.

The second had been a copper haired Leprechaun who also looked a little too old to be in class with the other children, a teenager rather than a preteen. Like Nana, he wore a bracelet around his right wrist. Irene-sensei had caught him doodling in the Margins of his notebook and had insisted that if he had time to draw then certainly he had finished.

"Tenji-san, you'll need to do much better than that." The Undine warned crossly. "I'll be expecting you to do the extra practice problems as well. And no defense class until they're turned in."

Third had been Bardiche himself.

"Bardiche-san." Irene-sensei stood patiently with arms folded. The Sylph boy looked up from his notebook, blinking owlishly. "Since you're always so studious, can you give me the answer to problem eight please? What is eighty two divided by seven."

The Sylph boy grew very quiet. Green eyes raced over the page in front of him and then flipped back a page.

"Bardiche-san?"

"I said, Eleven remainder five." Bardiche turned his notebook around and presented his work to the teacher. "This is right, isn't it Sensei?"

"That's correct." Their teacher agreed but frowned all the same. "Please try not to work so far ahead Bardiche-san. It'll save you a lot of effort if you make a mistake."

The Sylph tucked his head again his chin, nodding once. "Yes, Sensei."

The questions continued for a little while longer, until Irene-sensei returned to the board and wrote out a final problem on the board and numbered it as extra credit. "Okay everyone." Irene-sensei said as she wrote out twelve hundred and seventeen. This one is just for fun. You don't have to get it right," and then divided by twenty seven, "But I want everyone to try their hardest to be the first to answer and raise . . . "

"Forty five remainder two!"

Irene-sensei turned her head to where Yui sat, stretching her arm up toward the ceiling. She'd wanted to try too! It was only when she realized how quiet the room had gotten that Yui recognized her mistake for what it was.

Everyone was starring hard at her like she'd grown another head, or maybe her wings had popped out. And when the whispers started up, snatches of conversation reaching her ears.

"Even Bardiche couldn't solve it that fast!" One of the boys behind her whispered to his classmate.

"That's Yui-chan? She's really smart!"

"She's an otaku. She's a math otaku!"

"It's a little weird I guess . . . "

'Ah!' Yui squirmed, she'd messed up!

Irene-sensei's expression changed from surprised to stern as she didn't waste any time in squelching the voices. "Now now everyone, quiet down. Quiet down please." The Undine called for quiet before turning her attention back to Yui, who expecting Irene-sensei to be unhappy, had wanted to sink down in her chair. Instead however, her teacher simply smile and held out a piece of chock. "That's very good Yui-chan, but you should have let me finish first. Now then, once the problem is solved, I was going to ask the student to come up and solve it again on the board. Would you like to give it a try, Yui-chan? You can't use any special math tricks to solve it super-fast though, okay?"

"Ah . . ." Irene-sensei was giving her an Excuse she just had to take it. Yui scooted her chair out and stood up. "Yes, Sensei!"

"Then the first part is just like we did earlier, we have to change the notation like this . . ." Yui started. She didn't notice the Sylph boy in the second row, or the way that his frown had deepened.


	34. Chapter 8 Part 2: Making Friends

Author's Note: I've realize with the recent snips that I've really let the pacing go to pot in this story and I think part of that is probably how much dialogue I've been writing. Not that dialogue isn't awesome, but I'm going to have to try and cut down on it after this arc to get a more balance ratio of dialogue, action, and narrative again.

Anyways, more Yui and friends. I'll be breaking from my normal convention and posting another Tristain Chapter after this one titled Black Wedding so that I can close out the Marriage sub plot and get on with more important things. There should be no more than five/six more chapters to this arc after that with the emphasis on Albion. One chapter will be almost entirely OC centric, but only to set the stage for Matilda for the remaining chapters. Also, possibly one more Tristain chapter because people have been asking for a 'beach episode'.

Yeah, more or less this whole arc has been filler but it bought me time to start shaping the plot for the rest of the story so I can't really complain. Now back to your scheduled program. Read and review please.

Edit: And if anyone would like to spell check this chapter, give me a PM.

Halkegenia Online – Chapter 8 – Part 2

That had been too close, Yui thought as she returned to her seat. The other children all around her were still talking in hushed voices and giving her funny looks. Yui couldn't even Predict what would have happened if Irene-sensei hadn't come to her rescue. Although the former MHCP-AI didn't detect any Hostility, she didn't think she was off to a very good start.

Shoulders sinking out of worry more than embarrassment, Yui took a deep breath. Query Just what had come over her? Diagnostic Check There wasn't anything wrong with her Primary Binary Cluster, her decision making hierarchy hadn't been compromised. But she had acted Impulsively all the same because . . .

Because Irene-sensei had asked everyone to try their hardest to answer the problem quickly, and she'd _really_ wanted to make a good impression with everyone.

Yui hid a small shake of her head. She'd messed up. Scarier, she hadn't been thinking. She'd been so busy processing her observations that she hadn't thoroughly queried her Social Scripts. But answering Irene-sensei's question had been a trivial computation that had barely used any of her resources.

Observation It was unusual for humans to be able to compute large numbers very quickly. She should have known better than to make a mistake like that! Abnormalities were more likely to be remembered.

Yui normally didn't mind one way or another if people thought she was Weird, she was her own person after all. But it could have dire consequences if Irene-sensei told Aunt Suguha or her parents found out.

Which was why Yui was actually Grateful when the other children gradually went back to listening to lessons and she was able to return to her note taking and observations without worrying that she was being watched back.

Irene-sensei's lecture ended and Fujiwara-sensei had taken her place to teach History of the Homeland which was basically a class in Japanese History. Japan was where her parents were from and also where Yui had existed within the SAO and ALO servers, so it was a subject she was eager to learn about.

Yui had read all of the books Irene-sensei had recommended, but Fujiwara-sensei had so much more say about the subject they were covering and gave so much more Context. The Leprechaun talked in such a conversational tone, inviting questions, that it wasn't boring at all to listen. Yui wondered if the Leprechaun was like Irene-sensei, a teacher before the Transition who had become a teacher again after.

Though she was tempted to answer some of Fujiwara-sensei's questions, or even to join the conversation he encouraged with the students, in the end she declined. Yui didn't trust herself just yet not to make another mistake, and her first brush with so much attention had been enough of a fright for one day.

History had been followed by grammar class with Ophelia-sensei, a tall Puca woman with rich golden hair done up in so many ringlets that Yui was sure they were the result of the Hair Styling Effect like Papa's springy black spikes. Ophelia-sensei was much more proper than the Leprechaun who had gone before her and she talked very formally to them, which struck Yui as strange because she had met Ophelia-sensei before and the Puca was usually very kind and friendly outside of class. Hypothesis Maybe she wasn't comfortable in front of crowds either?

But everyone had listened politely, and there hadn't been any complaints when they were all put together for group exercises. Yui had even perked up a little, this was exactly the sort of thing she had been looking forward to, and she didn't think she could mess up grammar the way she had in math. Scooting her desk to join the nearest group, she received a brief introduction from her neighbors.

There were three of them, four counting Yui.

The first was the Leprechaun girl who had started class, waving to Yui and inviting her to sit with them. "It's nice to meet you Yui-chan." Talia greeted her Excitedly as they put their desks together. "I'm Talia, and this is Aisling." She pointed to a mousy little Salamander girl with hair that was all the colors of a candle flame, who had joined them. "And I've heard you already know Balandene."

"Un." Yui nodded and looked up at the Sylph girl who was especially nicely dressed today after Yui had told her she would be starting classes. The little Maeve girl smiled. "We're friends."

"IRL friends?" Talia asked. "Or did you meet here?"

Yui hesitated amidst a cloud of blinks as she formulated a reply. "Don't be so rude Talia-chan!" Aisling reprimanded in a soft voice. "You can't just ask people personal questions like that."

"Why?" Talia said, completely unapologetic. "I don't mind if Yui-chan knows that we're friends IRL." Her smile widened as she patted Aishling on the back. "Aishling-chan and I go to the same school in Japan. Our families have been friends for a long time. We live with my dad here. He's a blacksmith in the Southern district. So fair's fair, what about you Yui-chan? You don't live at Arrun Home, right?"

Yui felt her Anxiousness returning to the pit of her stomach and her lips didn't quite want to open right away. She nodded shyly. "Me and my parents . . . and my Aunt. And some of their friends."

Talia's eyes widened, but luckily she kept her voice down. "_Both_ of your parents? You're really lucky Yui-chan."

"Un." She already knew that. "But you're lucky too Talia-san, you and Aisling-san have your dad and each other, and Balandene-chan has her brother and her uncle."

Balandene stuck out her tongue. "Uncle is good to have around but Ueda is such a jerk. He thinks he's so cool when he's not. He's not even that smart, he gets bad grades on his report cards all the time." She glanced to Yui. "I'm _glad _Yui-chan finally showed him up."

"Balandene, you shouldn't say such things about your brother." Aisling made the same face as Ophelia-sensei when she was reprimanding someone.

"What are you talking about?" Talia grinned. "That was amazing Yui-chan." Sitting up at her desk and leaning so far forward that Yui had to sink back in her chair or risk hitting her head. "I couldn't have done it that fast even with a calculator."

"Ah." Yui was frozen as she adapted one of her excuses on the fly. Observation Irene-sensei had mentioned 'tricks', associating with the math books she had read. Human Mental Division. Fast Mental Division. Human Computation. Processing

"It's . . ." Yui stared to speak even before she was done compiling her reply.

"You're really just like a computer Yui-chan!" Talia said cheerfully.

Yui felt an uncomfortable Flush rising to her cheeks and hurriedly tried to finish her explanation. But before she could say anything else Ophelia-sensei reached them and handed out a single sheet of paper each and a thin Kanji dictionary for them to share. "Alright kids, settle down a little. This is your assignment for today, once you're finished you can go to lunch. Ask your neighbors first if you have any trouble and then come to me. I'll be moving around class if you have any questions."

Yui accepted her sheet gratefully and scanned the contents. It was a hand copied passage from a book and it was full of mistakes. Assertion Those were what they were supposed to correct. Looking across to Balandene, Aisling, and Talia, it looked like the other girls had all been given different pages so they couldn't simply copy each other.

Yui's Natural Language Engine immediately began to identify and tag errors in the example sentences. Completing the assignment wouldn't be any harder than doing the math earlier. Except . . . Hesitation A sense of worry caused Yui to hold her pencil poised over the paper. She had to be careful, _very_ careful not to look weird again.

Observation She'd given Papa a hard time for being so Abnormal. But it was turning out to be harder than she had expected to act Normal. Just what did that word mean anyways? Yui had pondered the question lots of times and she had never been able to deduce a suitably definitive answer. It seemed that normal-ness was simply everything that was Not Abnormal. How was she supposed to act Normally if the definition was so vague.

But she still had to try, so Yui came to a decision. Carefully observing from the corner of her eye, Aisling was working through her sentences the fastest, and so each time Aisling made a correction, Yui took it as a cue to make one on her own sheet. Aisling changed a verb to past tense, and Yui asserted a double negative. Aisling corrected a spelling error and Yui filled in a missing Kanji.

An order quickly emerged among the four girls, Aisling, followed by Yui, and then Talia, with Balandene struggling along with help on the harder parts. "I need to borrow this." The Sylph girl put her hand on the dictionary and pulled it over to her desk, flipping heatedly through the pages while reading and silently pronouncing the words.

"Ban-chan, this is the one you want." Talia tapped at a kanji near the top of the page.

The Sylph girl's average facial temperature rose by zero point three percent and her pupil dilation grew in a fashion consistent with surprise as she first tried to cover up what she was working on and then paused to check for herself. "I-It is?"

"Un." Talia put her hands on the book and pulled it over so it sat between them. "See, this one and this one go together like this, and that way you can write it all out in Kanji instead of using the hiragana."

Balandene appeared very reluctant, and Yui wondered why she would be Embarrassed by her friends trying to help her. "She's right Ban-chan." Yui encouraged. "See? It's pretty easy to guess too."

"I-I already knew that!" Balandene pulled the dictionary back, carefully read the page, and then filled in her answer. Yui tilted her head. How odd.

Maybe she shouldn't have been so worried about looking Normal, Yui realized as Ailsing, and thus she, finished their assignments and turned their papers over to await grading.

Looking around the room, the other children were mostly still hard at work. Bardiche and Tenji hovered over their table's Kanji dictionary while Ophelia-sensei was explaining an error to Nana. The other children were all still studiously at work or whispering to each other when they thought their teacher wouldn't hear.

"This looks very good Aisling-chan." Ophelia-sensei sounded pleased as she read over the Salamander girl's assignment before placing it at the top of the stack she had begun to collect. Taking Yui's next, she read for thirty two and half seconds before her lips thinned.

Alarm! Yui's pulse quickened and she felt her shoulders tense up. Then Ophelia-sensei stifled a small noise. Query A laugh?

"Yui-chan?" The Puca covered her smile with her hand. "Did you realize this one wasn't a mistake?" Her teacher put the paper down and pointed to a line that Yui had noticed and faithfully crossed out, even though it hadn't been underlined by Ophelia-sensei.

"But that's the wrong word." Yui scrunched up her brow. Had she made a mistake?

"It's a pun Yui-chan." Ophelia-sensei smiled.

Analysis. Pun Joke Irony. A dichotomy of meaning between the literal interpretation and the intention. Amusing on multiple levels. Yui flushed as she listened to Opheli-sensei's explanation. It _was_ a little funny.

"Maybe I shouldn't have left it in." Ophelia-sensei said wistfully. "It might be a little confusing for you girls."

Next looking over Talia's answers, she pointed out a pair of errors and then told her try to guess at the corrections. Then she reached Balandene, and Yui felt sympathy well up as her lips drew another thin line, and then she begun to tutter. "Balandene-san, it's a lot better than last time, but this is still quite a few mistakes. We've covered some of these before." Ophelia-sensei sounded genuinely concerned. "Are you sure you understand this part?"

"U-uhm . . ." Balandene wrung her hands.

"It's okay if you don't understand just yet. This is still a big improvement since last time." Ophelia-sensei said gently. "I'll make a note for study hall this afternoon. We can try again then, okay?"

"Y-yeah." The Sylph lowered her head, holding in a groan until Ophelia-sensei was out of ear shot and then burying her face in her arms and desk.

She looked so Defeated that Yui could only think to comfort her friend as best she could. "It's okay Ban-chan." Yui patted the taller girl on the back. "If you want, I can help you study."

"Nnn." Balandene, shook hear head. "It's stupid." She mumbled to no one in particular.

On cue, the turning of the hour was signaled by the distant ring of Arrun Tower's bells and the clattering of desks became the only noise as children hurried to turn in their assignments before hurrying for the door and lunch time.

"Maybe." Talia agreed nonchalantly, stretching as she got up from her chair. "But stupid people get hungry too, don't they? Maybe if you eat something your brain will have more fuel, Ban-chan." Yui was swept up by Talia who took her by the wrist, grabbing onto Balandene to drag her along too.

They were the first ones out the door, the rest of the class right on their heels as they hurried not to be the last ones in line. "Hurry up, there's supposed to be cranberries today." Talia informed them. Yui's eyes widened as she got her legs under her, stomach growling at the thought of Tart Sweetness.

Sadly, it would have to wait. Some of the other teachers had let their classes out just a little bit earlier and Yui found herself at the end of a line that ran the length of one of the wings of the school building.

"Darn it! That's Vincen-sensei's class, he always lets them go before the bell." Talia complained, biting down on her lip as she crossed her arms and tried to peek around the corners of the line. "Darn it, darn it, it darn it!"

"There's going to be enough Talia-chan." Yui smiled nervously, this girl really was pretty excitable it seemed.

"But it's ham and cockatrice sandwiches!" Balandene complained. "And there are never enough ham ones for everyone who wants them."

"Well, I like cockatrice." Aisling said. "It's not bad Ban-chan."

Yui nodded. "It's good, isn't it?" Especially with mayonnaise and hot sauce.

Balandene stuck her tongue out again. "I don't want to eat some weird animal."

Aisling frowned. "Hey, they're not weird, they're _cute_."

"How are they cute?!" Balandene complained. "They're weird, and scaly, and all gross and stuff. It's like something my brother would like."

"You'd eat something you thought was cute?" Talia looked alarmed.

"Un. I think rabbits are cute, and I've tried rabbit. It's pretty yummy."

"Don't tell Silica-chan or she won't let you hold Pina anymore!" Talia warned seriously.

Yui's head was on a swivel as she listened closely to the other girls, logging the conversation as she had others in the past. But this was a completely different Environment from when she came to play or see her friends. Talia and Aisling were Acquaintances who she hadn't really become friends with yet, while Balandene was a good friend. It made for a very different Social Dynamic. It was all so exciting!

"So like I was saying earlier." Talia eyed Yui and Balandene. "You two are friends, but you didn't answer my question. Are you IRL friends? Like classmates or something?"

Yui shook her head. "Just friends. I met Ba-chan when I crashed into her brother."

"Crashed?" Aisling's eyes widened. "Yui-chan, you weren't flying in the city were you? You're not supposed to do that!"

"It wasn't Yui-chan's fault." Balandene came to her rescue with an irritable expression. "Ueda was the one who broke the rules. He wasn't even watching where he was going. He crashed face first into Yui-chan. My stupid brother is lucky he didn't hurt anyone."

"Don't worry Ban-chan!" Yui reassurred her friend. "My skull is really hard, Bardiche-san would have to run into me a lot harder than that!"

"You mean he hit you in the head!" Talia sounded mortified at the thought, thought Yui was unable to determine why. Query Did Talia not believe her?

Yui nodded her head once more and reached up to brush a few locks of hair from the right side of her face. "Actually, Bardiche-kun hit me with his head right here." She pointed just above her temple where the large Monkey Bump she had received had since faded away. "But it was my fault too." Yui clasped her hands before her. "I wasn't paying attention either."

"Still, running into a girl because he's not paying attention." Talia observed thoughtfully. "Dad must be right, boys are completely single minded." The Leprechaun's expression changed from thoughtful to curious once more. "Speaking of flying. Yui-chan, what tribe are you?"

Tribe? Yui was caught up in another shower of blinks. Tribe Clan Social Group Faction Match!. Mama and Papa had already talked to her about that very question, so Yui wasn't caught completely unprepared. The different Faerie races all had unique features and traits. But she and Mama were the only two Maeves in the world, and their Faerie features were very distinctive because of it.

"It's sort of complicated." Yui said. "Mama's family has connections to RETCO Progress, their the company that made ALO, so Mama and I got to use special avatars."

"Wait, like one of the G.M.s?" Talia looked excited. "So I was right, Yui-chan does have special powers!"

"N-Not really." Yui grinned nervously. "We just have special wings is all."

Aisling looked thoughtful. "Special? How are they special?"

Before Yui could answer, Balandene stepped in to reply. "You have to see them for yourself, they're really pretty, and they're _huge_." The Sylph girl threw her arms wide in an exaggerated pantomime. "They almost touch the ground."

"Really?" Aisling's eyes flashed with interest. The little Salamander girl stared over Yui's shoulder, and then leaned to the side as if she could see them for herself just by looking hard enough.

"If you want, I can show you." Yui offered, feeling a little uncomfortable under Aisling's Scrutiny. "After class." She added.

This was enough to placate Aisling, and Talia who reluctantly turned her attention back to lunch. They had finally gotten to the front of the line which terminated at an open kitchen window. As Talia had predicted and Balandene had feared, the last of the ham sandwiches had already been taken and Balandene was left to unhappily accept one with cockatrice meat.

Yui didn't know how her friend could dislike a sandwich so much. They weren't nearly as good as Mama's, but they tasted just fine to Yui. Maybe it was her lack of Experience. Yui resolved that she'd find out what was so special about Ham Sandwiches so that she could judge for herself.

In the meantime, Yui offered her cranberries and extra lettuce in exchange for some of Balandene's sandwich and Aisling did the same so that they both got an extra sandwich half and Balandene ended up with something like a cranberry salad.

After getting their food, that just left finding a place to sit. Luckily, there were more than enough of those to go around. Seating themselves on a bench situated in the school flower Garden, Yui took a bite out of her sandwich and swung her legs idly as she looked all around.

On a sunny day like this, the children were allowed to east outside and otherwise use their lunch hour as they please. For the most part, that was talking, or playing, or else catching up on their classwork. It was probably how a Normal school lunch was supposed to be. Observation Correction It seemed a lot like the schools Aunt Suguha and her parents had told her about.

Between the children of Arrun Home and the children of greater Arrun, there were just too many people to fit inside of even a large Guild Hall like Arrun Home which also had to house accommodations for its boarders. Instead of trying to fit everything inside of one building, the staff of the Home had just accepted that the school would have to located elsewhere.

The u-shaped guild hall adjacent to Arrun Home was only two stories tall with a lofted third floor lined with dormer windows, and in Aunt Suguha's opinion, it was one of the most 'school-like' buildings in Arrun.

Irene-sensei had negotiated early on with the Guilds and Arrun City Council to have the building reserved for the Children's Home on the condition that the school would be open to any children who could attend and would teach at least up to middle school curriculum.

Hypothesis Maybe this was people trying to be Normal again. Children were supposed to go to school and adults were supposed to work, that was Normal. But who was a child and who was an adult? Yui wondered.

Yui watched as a group of six boys and girls bickered over the rules of an aerial catch game that they were going to play until one boy, a Cait named Allan who lived at Arrun Home and who loved to draw, finally got everyone to listen to him and began to bossily lay out the rules. It was really impressive that he could command everyone's attention when he was only twelve, especially given that two of the other children were Badly out of Time. An older looking teenage Imp boy who went by Cypher and a Leprechaun woman named Eloise who liked to practice her crafting skills as a jeweler.

Query what was an adult?

Out of Time People like Cypher, Eloise, and Rika who had all woken up from the transition with fully developed adult bodies were still considered children because of their underdeveloped minds. And there were Out of Time people like Doctor Saito who had received a body that had not completed its development, but who was considered an adult because of his life experience.

But the brain was also part of the body and it also matured and developed with age.

The history books Yui had read had told her that the Age of Majority in Japan was twenty years old. That was the point at which a person was legally an adult and was considered fully responsible for their own actions. But why twenty years old? Conclusion It seemed very arbitrary. Correction It _was _arbitrary.

Halkegenia had no legal definition of Adulthood but there was still a difference between a Child and an Adult.

The students at the academy were considered Children while Queen Henrietta and Prince Wales were treated as adults even though they were the same age as many of the students. The maid staff were also considered adults regardless of their age, although they were always outranked by the nobility. So were the commoner soldiers who guarded the roads outside of Arrun and manned the fort that had been built between the Faerie City and the Academy.

Papa and Mama would be Children Boy and Girl in Japan, but becoming Knights had automatically made them Adults Man and Woman in Halkegenia.

Conclusion In Japan a person who was responsible for themselves was an adult. In Halkegenia an adult was someone who was responsible for themselves. That seemed much more Sensible to Yui as she took another bite of her sandwich and looked up into the bright blue sky.

"Y-Yui-chan! Tell them it's not true!" Balandene cried for her attention, face flushing a livid hue of red. Talia had started teasing her about something, reviewing the last thirty seconds, Yui concluded that it was her infatuation with Takai-sensei.

"Ban-chan has a complete crush on him! I knew it!" Talia grinned triumphantly. "There had to be a reason why you'd take defense classes. Especially with your brother."

"It's not like that!" The Sylph girl looked imploringly to Yui who simply finished a bit of her sandwich and then thoughtfully formulated her reply.

"It's perfectly natural to have a crush on a boy you like Ban-chan."

"Yui!" Balandene's eyes grew round as Talia laughed, though it wasn't a mean laugh, she seemed really happy for her friend.

"But I think you should listen to Talia-san. Takai-sensei is a little old for you!" They were still children after all.

* * *

><p>With a full tummy and more than half of the lunch hour left, Yui had wanted to spend her free time exploring. By Yui's internal clock, waiting in line for their sandwiches and then eating them had taken twelve hundred and eighteen seconds of their thirty six hundred second break, more than enough time to have a look around.<p>

Other than a brief visit the day before starting classes, Yui had never been to the school building before and only ever seen it from afar while visiting Arrun Home. Luckily for her, Talia had been eager to show her around.

"Well I am our class leader after all." Talia had slapped her chest proudly as she wore a confident grin. "I wouldn't be doing my job if I wasn't helping out a new student!"

"Class Leader?" Why hadn't Yui been told about that before?

"Self appointed." Balandene explained helpfully.

"Talia-chan, Talia-chan." Aisling tried to get the other girl's attention. "You shouldn't be saying things like that!"

Talia didn't seem at all bothered by her friend. Yui supposed she was one of those Unstoppable people like Mama. Or maybe her hearing was Selective like Papa. Either way, Yui found herself being taken by the wrist for a tour of the school.

Although smaller than Arrun Home, the school's grounds were about the same size. There was a flower and herb garden along the building's east side, and several smaller outbuildings arranged along the perimeter of the grounds to the north. In ALO they would have housed the armories and storerooms of a guild, now in Halkegenia, they had become club rooms and workshops for the students.

Under the watchful eyes of their instructors, children who were so inclined were permitted to practice their crafting skill which ranged from cooking and gardening to metal working and alchemy, and their combat skills, limited during school hours to unarmed defense lessons taught by Takai-sensei.

The ding of hammers was joined with the radiant heat of a small furnace at the door to the smithy, a squat little stone building that sat all by itself at the corner of the grounds. Students, mostly Leprechauns and Gnomes, were busily working at the anvils to shape their creations or standing before the furnace with tongues and bellows.

Yui would have predicted that the projects would be weapons and armor, and although there were a few of those hanging on the walls in various states of completion, the majority of the work was much more mundane.

"How are those pots coming along Rathy-chan?" Fujiwara-sensei appraised the work of one of his student, smiling and praising her skill and the black iron pot that she had just quenched.

"Just finished with the second one now." A Leprechaun girl, almost completely obscured by her heavy protective clothing, brown hair glinting with a metallic sheen, answered proudly. "There's probably not enough time to start on a skillet today. But maybe we can sketch out that double boiler Irene-sensei's been wishing for."

"That sounds like an excellent idea." The older Leprechaun patted his student on the shoulder before catching sight of the girls at the door. "Ah ah ah! You four, please, you need to stand further back. You aren't permitted in the smithy without protective clothing."

"Sorry Sensei!" Balandene called as she tugged at Talia and Yui. "We just wanted to see what everyone was working on."

Well, a weather vane for one, Yui noted, and another older Leprechaun boy with gloss black hair, Tarkin, appeared to be brazing together metal pipes like the ones that ran underneath the eves of Arrun Home. Query Maintenance? Lastly, a pair of Gnomes were busying themselves in the back corner. One was fitting the head to a hammer while the other was drawing iron wire through an orifice to shape nails

The children were using their crafting skills to help maintain their home. Was this what was meant by Beating Swords into Plowshares? Though she didn't expect she'd be allowed to see much more today, Fujiwara-sensei was pushing them towards the door.

"If you want to see, you can come back later with the proper clothes." The Leprechaun instructor informed them in a voice that was completely absent of Anger but still very firm.

Yui was finally pulled a step back by Balandene, only for all three girls to bump off of a wall that had appeared at their backs. Correction Yui hadn't bumped, she'd bounced, stumbling back towards the door, and it wasn't a wall. Yui looked up, it was a girl, she looked up further, a very big and _very_ Sturdily built girl.

Hagiwara Rika, the Gnome girl Rika, a casual player of ALfheim online by means of her older sister's account, and now one of the Out of Time students in the care of Arrun Home, looked down from her lofty vantage, completely unfazed by walking through them.

"Oh? Ah! Yui-chan, Ban-chan, are you alright?"

Balandene had stumbled, but she hadn't fallen, and Talia had taken a tumble into the grass which didn't appear to have hurt her. Yui busied herself straightening out her dress before looking up. "We're fine Rika-chan . . . uhm . . ." Observation "Are you okay carrying all of that?"

"Hmm?" Rika looked confused for roughly two point three seconds and then recognized what Yui was referring to. Shifting her grip on her burden, the Gnome girl tilted her head. "Oh this? It's not that heavy really."

Analysis Charcoal and wrought iron rods. Query Scrap metal? Conclusion Crafting supplies. Estimate One hundred and twenty Kilos. Yui looked down to Rika's feet, her boots had sunk an extra three centimeters into the soft and flaky soil, not that she seemed to notice. Looking back up at Rika's face, she didn't look to be under very much strain at all.

"Ah Rika-chan, you've brought the supplies." Fujiwara-sensei clapped his hands together. "Thank you so much for your help, if you'll just take them inside." The Gnome gave a childish little nod as she adjusted the straps of the heavily laden pack.

The smaller girls watched her pass in silence until Talia whispered. "I didn't know Rika-chan was part of the smithing club."

"She's not." Balandene replied. "But she's always helping out since she's so strong. You should have seen when Ophelia-sensei needed a tree stump taken out."

"Good for Rika-chan." Yui peaked back through the door. Rika was really self conscious. Making herself useful had done wonders for her Self Confidence. She'd come a long way since the time she'd accidentally ripped her room door off its hinges.

The students tending the herb and flower gardens had been more welcoming, some of the friends Yui had made among the other children smiled and waved, stopping their work long enough to introduce her to friends that she hadn't met before. About half of the student population resided in greater Arrun, living with family or friends, and Yui's contact with them had been almost nonexistent until today. At least, she thought, she was making a good first impression with them.

"Yui-chan really gets along with everyone." Talia complimented her as they waved goodbye to the gardening group. The praise was sincere, though Yui suspected it had more to do with the daisy that each of them had been offered for their hair and which Talia now wore over her left ear like a pencil.

"She knows how to talk to people." Balandene agreed as she carefully placed her own daisy in her hair band. "What's your secret Yui-chan?"

Secret? Alert! Alarm froze Yui's run times for nearly seven hundred and twenty milliseconds. Correction The thought passed quickly and Yui returned the present before her silence became too noticeable.

She held her hand to her chin, assuming a Contemplative pose. "Mmm, it's more about listening to people actually." Yui Decided, and then nodded firmly. "Sometimes people just need someone to hear them." Her purpose had been to examine and analyze human behavior and detect irregularities after all. Humans were social creatures that depended on one another to provide Context and Error Check themselves.

Conclusion A definition of a human could be a creature that required others to exist. In other words, a Social Animal. This definition encompassed Yui as well and so pleased her immensely.

Although, Yui thought more Soberly, her capacity to treat the symptoms that she diagnosed had always been far more limited. She had been intended as a diagnostic tool and intervention mechanism, not as a primary caregiver. Her responsibility was to begin at identifying at risk players and to end at encouraging them to seek out help. Even if she had been permitted to perform her duties as intended in Aincrad, she could never have provided all of the care that the players required. Yui felt a familiar sense of Frustration.

But she would have _tried_. She would have done anything to help.

Now, her capabilities to do so were far more limited, but she was free to try. At the same time, Yui had found herself caught up in the conflict of her _own_ desires and what she Felt as her duty. Her singular purpose was no longer caring for the players, it was a part of who she was, but not the only part.

She couldn't help but think fulfilling her original purpose would have left her feeling very Lonely.

The sound of music wafted from the band room where the Puca students practiced with their instruments, a light and heartfelt tune that made Yui feel a little bit better. This world was nothing like Aincrad, the players were not prisoners in this world, and neither was she.

"Looks like extra defense lessons." Aisling mentioned as they circled back around to the front of the school building and the grassy field divided by the main footpath.

"Hey Ban-chan." Talia called cheerfully. "There's your future husband."

At the Leprechaun's teasing, Balandene's pale features had gone red as a tomato. "Talia!" She cried, voice caught between Shock and Embarrassment that Yui still didn't fully understand the reason for.

Yui craned her neck to follow Talia's gesture, identifying Takai-sensei in the middle of instructing his students in hand to hand combat. The summer heat had broken for today, but it was still warm enough to get sweaty while training. The Salamander had stripped off his jacket and shirt, exposing a darkly tanned and muscular torso and arms that shone in the sunlight.

Balandene very deliberately looked away while huffing and mumbling under her breath.

While Yui watched, Takai-sensei took up a fighting stance and instructed his students to grab one another before pantomiming out the steps to break loose. Then, while each student attempted to follow the instructions, he proceeded down the line and made corrections, stopping when he reached two students at the end of the line.

Observation "Ban-chan, isn't that your brother?"

It appeared that way, the shorter and younger looking of the two students was Bardiche. Balandene's older brother had followed his Sensei's example and stripped down to a white undershirt that exposed thin, wiry limbs as he grabbed his attacker, a young Cait Syth man, by the wrist. The Sylph boy didn't hesitate or slow down as he twisted in a motion that committed his whole body. The young Cait was first overbalanced and then found his size and weight being used against him as the forward motion of his grab was turned into a flip that landed him flat on his back.

The Sylph boy took a step back, his chest rising and falling with each heavy breath. Adjusting the collar of his shirt, Bardiche reached down and offered his opponent a hand back to his feet. Takai-sense had stepped in to show what had been done wrong and how to make corrections and then the two students had traded places, with Bardiche as the attacker and the Cait defending himself.

"Your brother is pretty good too, Ban-chan." Talia observed idly.

It was a lot easier for Balandene to look away now, scowling as she did so. "He's just showing off because he's bigger and stronger now. Ueda would get his butt kicked if he tried stuff like that for real!"

"But don't you take defense lessons too?" Aisling asked.

"That's different!" Balandene answered, crossing her arms over her chest as if declare the conversation was over before it could even begin, which was probably for the best as the school bells chimed that class was about to begin again.

Afternoon classes, Yui discovered, had a completely different Mood than the ones held in the early morning. At first, she thought it was because morning classes came after a good night's sleep and a full breakfast, and that was definitely part of the reason. Now that the children had gone through a long morning and had lunch, there was an air of sleepiness in the classroom that even Vincen-sensei's science lecture couldn't fully dispel.

It actually left Yui feeling a little bad for her teacher, he was trying his hardest after all, and didn't seem like he was about to let the general sleepiness of his students slow him down.

The Cait Syth instructor was the most amazingly Animated person Yui had ever met, gesturing wildly with his arms, his ears, and even his tail as he illustrated the curriculum on the board. There was no doubt that he adapted well to his knew body. Today's lesson was on the Water Cycle which Vincen-sensei had specially modified for the children now that they lived in Tristain rather than Japan.

"Water evaporated primarily from the oceans collects into clouds, like this, which then travel with the winds until they precipitate into rainfall. In lots of places it isn't uncommon for this to happen around mountain tops which tend to block the movements of the clouds and cause them to build up until they begin to rain or snow." Vincen-sensei turned, twirling a small piece of chalk like a tiny baton. "Of course, what is true for Earth is true for Halkegenia in that regard, and the Fire Dragon Mountains are a well known example of this phenomenon on the continent. The mountains cause an arid climate in their eastern shadow while supporting lush farmlands to their west."

"A little more interesting is the role of Albion in Halkegenia's weather patterns. Now that we've covered how mountains affect rain fall, does anyone want to guess at Albion's influence? Nana-chan?" Vincen-senei pointed to the Spriggan girl who had raised her hand.

"Albion floats up at the same height as the clouds, so it must act a lot like the mountain peaks you were talking about, right Sensei?"

"That is very good Nana-san." The Cait put his hands behind his back as he assumed a lecturing pose. "Albion is called the White Isle because of the constant mists which collect all around its cliffs which go on to become the cloud system of Tristain, Southern Germania, and North Eastern Gallia. Some of Tristain's rain water comes from Albion's rivers as they flow off the side of the cliffs, but even more is thanks to the way that the White Isle intercepts the clouds over the ocean and tends to drive them into its shadow where they begin to cool and quickly condense."

Sketching a little cartoon of Albion on the board, Vincen-sensei showed the clouds backed up against the left side of the white isle with thirsty little Tristanian Farmers beckoning to the sky on the right.

"In fact, along with the seasons, the position of Albion is the greatest factor in determining when the rains will come, and since Albion's position is influenced by the moons, lunar calendars have historically been very important to farmers to determine when to start planting their crops . . ." The now familiar sound of bells interrupted Vincen-sensei whose ears twitched at the distant noise. "That appears to be all for today." Their teacher said as he retrieved his briefcase from the table and returned his drawing supplies to the desk drawer. "Now then, tonight's homework is a two page summary of today's lecture, I want everyone to come to class tomorrow with at least one good question. Then we'll start picking groups for our class projects."

Vincen Sensei had hurried out as quickly as he'd arrived, and only then did Yui recognize the way that the other students had grown even more subdued. "Hey Ban-chan? What's going on?"

"It's Boulanger-sensei." The Sylph girl answered in a hushed voice. "He's really mean."

"Mean?" Yui's alarm grew as she examined the faces of the other children, all set into forlorn expression as they waited. Jean Boulanger was one of the native tutors who had been hired to help teach the children subjects relating to Tristain's history and culture. It was a task that kept him very busy, so even though he boarded at Arrun Home with the rest of the staff, Yui had never met him.

He couldn't be that bad, could he?

But before Yui could ask, the door to the classroom opened with a noise like the crack of a whip and she suddenly was overcome with the uncontrollable urge to sit as perfectly still and upright as she could as their instructor stepped into view.

Boulanger-sensei was a lot like Vincen-sensei's shadow. Both men were very thin and tall, but where Vincen-sensei had dark skin and messy blonde hair, Boulanger-sensei was a pale skinned brunette who kept his hair expertly combed and slicked back. Vincen-sensei's features were always cheerful, and his squashed face seemed to wear a constant smile. Doulanger-sensei's features were sharp and pronounced, with thick eyebrows, small blue eyes, and an almost comically large nose set above a thin mouth committed to a dour little frown.

Yui knew she shouldn't Judge A Book By Its Cover but she began to suspect that Doulanger-sensei would be Vincen-sensei's opposite in other ways too. Like the way his frown deepened as he surveyed the room and spotted Yui before stepping through the threshold and taking his place at the front desk.

"Good afternoon children." Boulanger-sensei began as he set down his bag with a firm -Bang- like a stack of fallen books.

"Good afternoon Sensei." The class answered politely.

"I'd like to remind you all that I shall be collecting your reports at the end of this week's lessons. Be sure to have them turned in promptly before the deadline, and remember that while I am not fluent in your script, my aid is perfectly able to proof read your reports, his price for mistakes is a full letter grade, so be sure that you thoroughly read over your work as well."

"Now then, I see that we have a new student today." Ice blue eyes skewered Yui in her seat. "Miss Kirigaya."

"Uh uh, Un." Yui nodded shyly.

The mage's brow rose archly. "I would ask that you answer properly, Miss Kirigaya." Boulanger-sensei warned. "We will have firm and concise answers in this classroom. Especially from the daughter of Knights in her Majesty's service." A ripple of whispers started and was immediately quelled by a single look from their teacher. "Am I understood?"

"U- Yes . . . Sensei!" Yui corrected herself on the fly.

"Very well then." Boulanger-sensei turned back to the board. "Today we will be continuing where we left off with the geography of Germanian border territories and their recent historic significance."

One thing that Boulanger-sensei shared with Vincen-sensei was that he was really good at drawing. The human mage had no difficulty sketching a map of Northern Halkegenia simply from memory, a trivial task for Yui's own Eidetic Memory but extremely impressive for a someone who did not possess natural Perfect Recall.

"As you should all recall from previous lectures, Germania is often referred to as a Kingdom among the common people who rarely find pressing need to know better." Boulanger-sensei finished his map drawing with a final flourish that chipped the end of his chalk stick. "But this bellies the true complexity of our Northern Neighbor and Tristain's heated relationship with her through the ages."

"During our first lecture several weeks ago we briefly touched upon the fact that the Four Holy Kingdoms are Albion, Gallia, Romalia, and Tristain, whose Royal Lines derive their sovereignty by descent from the Founder Brimir and his disciple. These Kingdoms are the immutable legacy of our Holy Founder and have endured sixty two centuries to the present day."

Sixty two centuries, six thousand and two hundred years. Beside keeping herself busy studying for her classes, Yui had taken advantage of her library card to digest seven volumes on Earth History as well, and though her efforts at cross referencing had not been nearly as extensive, the texts revealed contradictions, Bias, and a view of the past that was inevitably incomplete, it offered her only real basis for comparison to what she was learning now about Halkegenia.

Part of the incompleteness of that record was because of how _long_ six thousand years actually was. At least a hundred human lifespans, a far greater time span than any person could ever probably live, longer than Yui herself could Simulate the experience of existing.

Six thousand years was about the time between Earth's earliest city building civilization which had developed primitive writing and crude metal based tools and the modern highly Technological society which had created sophisticated Knowledge Engines such as Yui herself.

Over such a great time span, data was inevitably lost to wars and disasters, or corrupted by translation between formats and languages, or simply never properly recorded and archived. Errors continued to accumulate through the record of history accelerated by the progression of Facts into Legends until only a Tantalizingly fragmented collection of data remained.

Observation There were no modern civilizations on Earth that claimed an uninterrupted history that was more than one third of the history claimed by the people of Halkegenia.

Query If that were the case, how had Halkegenian's archived their data such that so much had survived? Theories began to spin off like sparks, Yui committed the thought to a background process and turned the majority of her attention back to Boulanger-sensei's lecture.

"For much of that history, the Northern Kingdoms have been a place of constant strife and barbarity. The poor soil and harsh climates of these lands were unfavorable and wisely avoided by the Founder's Chosen People in their Exodus from the Holy Lands. The oldest Church records tell us that it was not until many centuries later that the native people were educated and brought into the Faith which unified the Holy Kingdoms under the Romalian Empire."

Analysis Romalian Empire, an institution that had existed from five hundred years after the Exodus from the Holy Land until roughly four thousand years ago, Yui felt Tempted to indulge in Pattern Recognition and associate the name with the Holy Roman Empire, but the comparison failed under scrutiny.

Romalia had been the first of the Brimiric Kingdoms to form. Legends said that its people had arrived by sea rather than the dangerous overland routes and aided by their numbers and excellent climate for agriculture, had been much more successful in establishing their Kingdom, holding over half of Modern Gallia at its greatest extent.

As Romalia had grown, the Church of the Founder had spread to the other Kingdoms alongside the armies which had aided in fighting off and eventually conquering the native peoples and exterminating the dangerous native species that had waged war on the Kingdoms. For over a millennium the Empire had been held together by Romalia's slow, creeping, ruthless advance to take control of Halkegenia in preparation for their Ultimate Goal of retaking the human homelands.

The decline of the Romalian Empire had only come later, after the Empire had reached its greatest extent and the other Brimiric Kingdoms had begun to grow much more numerous and prosperous. Exhausted from the constant campaigns and the demands for troop levees, and a disastrous second crusade against the Elves, it had still taken all three Kingdoms rebelling at once, and almost a hundred and fifty years of war to break an Empire that had lasted for a little over fifteen hundred years and tamed half a continent.

"Alas, though the Holy Armies of the Romalian Empire succeeded in bringing the Faith and the Founder's gifts to the peoples of the Far Northern Territories, they could not succeed in tying the Northerners to the blood lines of our Great Founder." Boulanger-sensei squinted his eyes and wrinkled his nose as if he was either annoyed or amused. "It is a strange thing to think reading ancient treatises that it had once been the intention that Tristain would absorb _Germania_ as so nearly happened recently in reverse."

Note : Irony Yui remembered to be amused this time.

"The Northern Provinces instead remained steadfast in their independents, and without the continuity of a unifying Royal House, were quick to turn the Founder's Blessings against one another in hundreds of wars and countless raids against the Holy Kingdoms. It was these attacks which ultimately unified the Brimiric Kingdoms under Gallia to Launch one of only two Crusades in History without the intention of seizing the Holy Land." Boulanger-sensei took a deep breath before continuing.

"The Crusade of the White Northern Cross is believed to have reached as far as the heart of modern Germania but failed again in binding the Northern Kingdoms to the Blood Lines of the Founder. This is believed to be in part due to the death of the Reigning Pope, Victus XII, who proved instrumental in turning the outer provinces to the Crusade's cause, without whose guidance the Generals and Princes of the Crusade were unable to make headway when negotiations were convened. What the Crusade did succeed in was laying the groundwork for the Convention of Sutterand in which the Kings and Princes of all of the Northern Kingdoms came together to negotiate their First Concordance."

"It was in fact at the Convention of Sutterand that the first official ties were made with the Church of the Founder, Pope Pious X was invited personally to attend due to the great respect engendered by Pope Victus for the Holy Kingdom of Romalia and its Prince."

"The First Concordance and those which followed, did not unify the Northern Kingdoms, nor have they created a lasting peace, instead, they have created a structure in which the barbarity of the North may be channeled and conflict concentrated into ceremony and minor skirmishes." Boulanger-sensei squinted in a way that indicated he was very much displeased.

"The Holy Germanian Empire and Aligned Territories of the Brimiric Church as it is officially known, is comprised of an alliance of many independent territories, Duchies, and Principalities which pledge their allegiance to an Emperor selected by an Elector Council. These territories are allowed to rule themselves as they please but must defer to the Emperor in foreign affairs and matters of war or great threat to the Empire. Historically, as Germania is a mountainous land, the Kingdoms have been divided along geographical barriers, especially in the South." Boulanger-sensei's eyes fell on Yui again with the same anxious chill that she had felt before.

"Since you should have brought yourself up to speed, Miss Kirigaya, would you please name the major Southern Provinces."

Query Request Local Memory Playback

"The Southern Provinces of the Holy Empire of Germania are the Grand Duchy of Arnhalt, the Duchy of Trostheim, and the Principality of Govenia." Yui listed off the names from the translated text Irene-sensei had lent to her. She hadn't finished analyzing everything she had borrowed, but for referencing, simply reading the materials had been more than enough.

"There are also four semi-autonomous territories along Germania's Southern Border that total an area equal to Principality of Govenia and pledge their direct allegiance to the sitting Emperor King Albracht III of the Kingdom of Sutterand. They are the coastal Bishopric of Wessnovania, the Bishopric of Lorn, the Trade Territory of Teuten, and the Border Territory of Leirrus."

By now, most of the other children didn't look at all surprised at the way Yui had answered. She'd been very careful to only reply with information Irene-sensei had given her, so it would only leave the impression that she had diligently studied. However, Yui was worried at first that Boulanger-sensei hadn't like her answer, he was giving her an expression that hovered between confusion and surprise, before settling on a small, satisfied nod.

"All acceptable answers Miss Kirigaya, very good." Cold blue eyes swept the room. "Now then, can any identify the territory Miss Kirigaya has just named which was for a time part of our own Fair Kingdom? Mister Takahashi." Boulanger-sensei pointed to Bardiche who had been first to raise his hand.

"It's the Grand Duchy of Arnhalt." Bardiche stopped and frowned. "Wait, no . . . that's a trick question."

"Pardon?" Boulanger-sensei looked impatient. "Is, or is not Arnhalt your answer, Mister Takahashi?"

Affirmation! Bardiche was right!

The Sylph boy furrowed his brow and then shook his head. "It's not, Arnhalt wasn't called a Grand Duchy before it became part of Germania it was . . ."

"Miss Kirigaya?" Boulanger-sensei pointed to her as quickly as she had raised her hand. "Bardiche-san . . . uhm . . . I mean, Mister Takahashi is right. The Arch Duchy was formed when the Arnhalt line married into the Zerbst family and combined their territories in the Grand Duchy. It was briefly an independent Kingdom dividing Tristain from Germania before being reabsorbed into the Empire." Yui sat back down, satisfied again that she had only replied with knowledge that everyone possessed. So why was Bardiche giving her such as Scary look?

"Again you surprise me Miss Kirigaya." Boulanger-sensei's eyed her from beneath hooded eyes. "That is, correct. For the remainder of today's lecture we will concentrate our attention on the Arnhalt region. As it has had the most history with our own Kingdom, I believe it may prove enlightening . . . "

The Germanian history and Geography lesson continued for the rest of the class period. From time to time Boulanger-sensei would stop to ask questions, but the only people who ever had Acceptable answers were Bardiche, Aisling, and Yui-herself. It seemed a lot of the lecture went over the heads of most of the children and that maybe Boulanger-sensei was being a little too ambitious.

Stepweiss Sensei turned out to have the opposite problem. She was very friendly to the students, maybe even too friendly as she concentrated her efforts on the students who struggled the most and left everyone else struggling instead. On the bright side, Halkegenian grammar turned out to be where Balandene shined and for once Yui was pretending to trail behind her Sylph friend rather than Aisling or Talia.

Yui had almost been surprised when her internal clock had reported that it was three-o-clock and that classes were ending. The rest of the day was study hall for the students who needed to finish homework and free study for the anyone who had already finished.

As promised, Yui had taken a seat beside Balandene and started helping her friend with her homework. It was all really easy stuff, but she pretended to have to work hard at it so that the Sylph girl wouldn't feel bad that she was struggling. Bardiche had only paused long enough to see what they were doing before walking up to the front of the class, dumping his assignments into the waiting tray, and departing.

"Not even sticking around to help his own sister!" Talia sounded unbelieving. "Bardiche is really unreliable, huh?"

"Like I even want him around!" Balandene stuck out her tongue. "He treats me like a little kid all the time. He acts so smart even though he's not. I can't stand him! But Irene-sensei makes us share a room since we're brother and sister."

"It must be tough." Aisling patted the Sylph girl on the back, leaning over to read her homework from Ophelia-sensei. "Oh, and that one's wrong!"

"Grrr!"

Early afternoon had turned to late afternoon until the sun finally began to look like it was going to set, the shadows of the trees growing long and the sky turning countless shades of gold. Talia and Aisling had already left, picked up by Talia's father, an affectionate young Leprechaun man with hair the exact same shade of gold as his daughter. Even though Aisling was his daughter's friend, he had been just as welcoming of her too, taking the hands of both girls as they departed out onto the streets with a last wave goodbye.

At last, Balandene had set down her pencil, gathered up her papers, and placed them wearily in the collection tray. She and Yui were the last ones left in the class room except for one of the older minders, Tarkin, the Leprechaun boy from earlier, who had been biding his time with a book. Tarkin had taken the pile of homework to be turned in to the office and locked up while Yui and Balandene wondered out into the evening light.

"It's not so bad Ban-chan." Yui encouraged, seeing anyone like this immediately triggered her Programmed Response Mode, what Papa sometimes called her Maternal Instincts. Yui hadn't corrected him because it was probably a good analogy. She couldn't help but _help _when the people around her were in trouble, especially when they were her friends. "Didn't Ophelia-sensei say you were improving?" That sounded promising, she just had to keep Balandene thinking positive thoughts.

Balandene mumbled something under her breath that not even Yui's hearing and speech recognition could decipher. "Hmmm? What was that?"

"I said . . ." Balandene stopped in her tracks.

"Ban-chan?"

They were about halfway between Arrun home and the school building, where the grounds met. The wrought iron fence that separated the two properties had been partially removed, and a brick archway sat half completed. When it was finished, it would form a lovely entry gate for the school. Query Another project of the students?

Balandene looked at the school and then to Arrun Home, but never at Yui. Correction, she wasn't looking at Arrun Home, she was looking to the fields outside where the volunteer defense classes had convened again for extra lessons, this time with practice weapons. Bardiche was there, swinging a weighted staff in place of his halberd and laying strikes on a string of decoys created by Nana's magic.

"Why is Ueda so much better here?" The Sylph girl asked, and it took Yui a moment to recognize that the question was addressed to nobody in particular. "All he ever did was play his stupid games and try hard to ignore me. Nii-chan's not that smart, his grades were totally average, but you're the only one he can beat him at math and history. He wasn't strong, he wasn't fast . . ."

Yui listened silently, nose twitching sympathetically as she processed the new data, this was the most Balandene had ever opened up and every word needed to be picked apart and analyzed.

"But it's like everything's easy for him now and he's paying a bunch of attention to me. I used to want to play with him all the time. But now I don't ever want to see his stupid face."

Query? Was Balandene crying?

Yui's only response was to quietly place a hand on her friend's shoulder and wait for her to stop trembling. Balandene didn't let out a squeak, not even a whimper, instead, she bit down on her lip until her emotions began to fade and started walking again. It wasn't healthy, but Yui couldn't pry open her friends feelings without hurting her more.

"Acting all tough and smart, he must have found some sort of cleverness stat or something."

"Uhm . . . I'm pretty sure that's not a thing, Ban-chan." Yui smiled gently, it was probably a good thing ALO wasn't a game anymore, Balandene didn't seem very inclined to learn the Game Mechanics even if it was life or death. "I think Bardiche-kun just studies really hard, that's all."

Balandene proved her point a moment later with a loud. "Whatever!"

By the time they got back to Arrun Home, most of the children were inside, tired out, and spending their evening helping to prepare dinner or else chatting about their day while playing board games.

Some of the children were already dressed in their pajamas and drying damp hair, indicating that the long cycle of baths had started as everyone got cleaned up and ready for bed.

Yui observed a few of the children playing a board game she'd wanted to try ever since she'd seen it on the shelf, this was the first time there had been a space open, and for some reason, she really wanted to be the little car. But before she could go ask if she could play, she caught sight of Irene-sensei and a very familiar Cait girl holding an even more familiar bag. It was Mama's grocery bag, and Yui could make out the collar of one of her shirts sticking out of the top.

"Silica-chan." Yui tilted her head as she tried to decipher what it meant. And more importantly. "Silica-chan, what happened to your hair?" And her ears for that matter. The Cait's hair was a tangled mess, and even the fine fur of her ears was full of brambles. The little feathered dragon clinging to her shoulder didn't look much better with tacks and sticks all stuck up in her feathers.

"It's a long story Yui-chan." Silica smiled wanly. Observation Her face was dirty too. Yui's eyes drooped suspiciously until silica relented, Long Story was one of those Euphemisms that she could just let rest. "Alicia-sama just had a tough job for us is all."

"Yuuki-chan was absolutely filthy." Irene-sensei sighed. "Honestly, that girl is just a magnet for dirt, if I told her to go roll around in a pigsty she'd leave the place spotless. Silica-chan, why don't you go catch up with her and take a nice bath. It sounds like you've earned it."

"Un." Silica nodded eagerly.

"Kyaah! Kyaah!" Pina added her own double ascent.

"Oh, but first." Silica turned to Yui and handed her Mama's shopping bag. "I talked to Suguha a little while ago. The watch Captain and Senior Lieutenants were all called away so she has to take an extra shift tonight. She told me to give you these so you can get ready for bed here and she'll try to get off before it gets too late."

Yui accepted the bag and look inside. As expected Pajamas and Toiletries everything that she would need before going to sleep.

"Uhm, I hope that's not too much trouble." Silica said. "I mean, I hope it isn't an imposition, Irene-sensei."

"It's perfectly fine with me." The Undine teacher tucked her hands back into her sleeves. "We can put Yui in the bath rotation with you and Yuuki-chan. But if Kirigaya-san doesn't get back I'm not sure we have any spare rooms . . ."

"It's okay." Balandene spoke up and then quickly full silent, twiddling her thumbs nervously.

"Balandene-chan?" Irene-sensei coaxed encouragingly.

"I was just thinking it's okay if Yui-chan has to stay the night." The Sylph girl took her hand, green eyes bright. "If she does, can she stay with us?"


	35. Chapter 8 Part 3: Arrun Night

Halkegenia Online v3 – Chapter 8 – Part 3

Evening was settling over the Faerie City nestled among the roots of the World Tree and the ore-lamps were beginning to glow in their thousands like fireflies, turning the streets into rivers of gold, and the City Tower into a pillar of splashed light.

For most people it was the end of a long day and time to go home or go out with friends. Every day more people had found steady work, and every night the restaurants and bars had gotten busier. Four months felt like a long time now, long enough that a new 'normal' had replaced the turbulence of the Transition. People got out of bed every morning knowing what to expect out of their day.

And for the children of Arrun Home, what was expected in the evening after dinner was baths.

It was weird, Takahashi Kazuna thought as she sank her shoulders down into the hot clear water, breathing a relieved sigh as she felt the tension between her shoulder blades fade, she remembered she hadn't used to think of a bath as such a luxury.

For a game that had prided itself on its 'immersion' ALO sure hadn't had many baths or toilets. Arrun Home only had one bath on each floor that had to be shared with almost one hundred people, so it took planning and a lot of time for everyone to bathe at night. Baths started from right after dinner all the way to curfew, and you were only allowed a five minute soak, ten minutes on Saturday nights when the rotation started earlier and curfew was later.

Kazuna looked around the small space, surrounded by quiet dripping, walls, ceiling, and floor all made of the same warm wood, lit by an ore-lamp in the far corner. It wasn't anything at all like the bath at home where she could just sit and soak as long as she liked.

But even this was luxurious compared to how things had been before she and her brother had been reunited with Uncle and settled into Arrun Home. Kazuna still remembered the indescribably gross feeling of waking up in the same clothes she'd been wearing for three days without washing. And that wasn't all.

Breathing in the warm and steamy air and hugging herself, Kazuna remembered other things about the time just after the Transition. Like being hungry and being afraid. Afraid that she couldn't log out, afraid that no one else had known what had happened or what that horrible pain had been about, afraid they wouldn't find Uncle, she'd even been afraid for her stupid brother until she realized he didn't care.

'Ueda you stupid jerk . . . Ueda.'

Her brother had changed in this world. He wasn't the skinny, dark haired boy he was in real life anymore. He didn't act like it either. In fact, he acted so little like himself that if she hadn't known any better, Kazuna wouldn't have believed he could be the same person.

Her brother had never gotten good grades. He'd never tried hard. He'd never been good at anything but his stupid games.

'Because he still thinks this is a game!' Kazuna thought furiously, it was the only explanation. Meanwhile, she had to deal with just how real it was all alone.

Kazuna cupped her hands, holding a tiny pool of water before her eyes. Her bright green eyes. At least it was a cute face, she thought, though she refused to even think that it might be cuter than her own real face, definitely not! She shook her head furiously and then stopped and stared and grimaced as she placed her hands carefully to her chest and probed the soft tenderness that she found their.

'They're getting bigger.'

What had started as two knotted up bumps, barely bigger than grapes, and not even showing above the skin, had grown and softened until there was no mistaking what they were or what they were going to become. She'd tried to ignore it at first, just like she pretended she hadn't noticed the other changes. And then she'd woken up one night in pain and found her pajama bottoms stained with blood, and any hope of pretending nothing was happening had vanished.

Nothing was wrong with her, Irene-sensei had insisted gently, these things were all just part of growing into a healthy young woman.

Kazuna didn't feel very healthy. In fact the more she thought about it, she felt pretty lousy. Sore legs, sore chest, and the _cramps_ were just the start. She wasn't ready to start becoming a young woman just yet! She was the baby of the family. A family which, she realized, had been chopped to ribbons.

Now she only had Uncle and Ueda in the whole world, Uncle was putting himself in danger to protect them, and the less she thought about her brother the better. With another small sigh, Kazuna allowed herself to sink further into the water, down to her neck, down to her chin, to her nose, long blonde hair fanning across her shoulders like a halo until . . .

-splash-

-Gasp!-

The water slapped her in the face as her bathmate erupted back to the surface for a lungful of air.

"Yui-chan!" Kazuna cried, spluttering as she wiped water from her eyes.

"Eighty nine point five seconds!" The cute little Faerie girl slapped a hand against her chest triumphantly. "I'm getting better!"

Her name was Kirigaya Yui, Kazuna's friend Yui, maybe the only friend she'd really made in this world.

'Better at holding your breath?' Kazuna wondered.

That was the kind of dumb thing her brother would try to compete over, but she couldn't say that in front of Yui, just like she tried to avoid mentioning how weird she could be sometimes, or to draw too much attention to her wings, she didn't want to hurt Yui's feelings, especially after Yui had been so nice to her.

It was just . . . she was weird sometimes. Really weird. Really _really_ weird. The things she would say and the things she would _do_. Like today in class . . . But if her brother was acting weird, why not other people? Kazuna reasoned. At least with Yui, it seemed like an honest weird, she didn't _mean_ to do it, it was just how she was.

Besides, Yui-chan had been so nice to her since they'd first met, playing with her even though she didn't like to fly like the other kids, and just listening as she talked about whatever she liked, normal stuff mostly, and home. So what if Yui was a little odd? Maybe . . . maybe it was okay to be a little weird. Maybe it was even okay that Yui called her 'Ban-chan'.

"Ban-chan? Are you alright?"

"Un. I'm fine Yui-chan. But I think we're almost out of time. Ophelia-sensei will get annoyed and come kick us out if we stay in much longer." As if just mentioning their teacher's name had summoned her, their came a short knocking at the door.

"Balandene-chan. Yui-chan. It's time to get out of the bath you two."

Yui's eyes got big, her face seemingly asking how Kazuna had known. They both looked at each other, and then both giggled. "Yes Sensei!" They said together.

Helping each other to dry off, they dressed quickly in their pajamas, Kazuna in a lime green night gown that Uncle had let her pick out at the market, and Yui in a black shirt and black drawstring shorts that looked like they'd be better suited on a boy. When Kazuna had asked, Yui had insisted she was fine with her pajama's because they were like the ones her Papa wore.

Even so . . . 'She's not very fashionable.' Kazuna decided as Yui shook out her damp hair.

Ophelia-sensei was waiting outside with the next two bathers, a sly little Cait boy named Randal and his roommate, a Gnome named Hama who was approximately half as wide as he was tall, which was a head taller than Kazuna, and built a little bit like a miniature sumo wrestler.

"Did you two have a good bath?" Ophelia-sensei asked, looking frazzled and half ready for bed herself between seeing to all of the children.

Both girls nodded. "It was a nice soak." Kazuna said.

"But you better hurry or you'll waste all your time out here." Yui added to the two boys.

Hama, who always wore a very serious frown, nodded as he nudged his roommate toward the door. Randal spared Kazuna a glance and a fanged grin to which she simply turned up her nose. If possible, Randal was an even bigger jerk than her brother, after embarrassing her by revealing that she hadn't been wearing shorts one day, the Cait had wasted no time in trying to flip her skirt every chance he got.

Ophelia-sensei had talked to him about it and he'd gotten a big reprimand from Takai-sensei, but that just meant he'd gotten sneakier in his attempts to tease her. Kazuna hadn't been very happy when Irene-sensei had put them on the same floor and told them to at least try and get along.

"Randal-san." Kazuna said stiffly.

"_Baa_-chan." He smiled. That smile. It was just . . . _ugh_!

"Let's go Yui!" Kazuna grabbed her friend by the wrist and tugged her along. And like that, they were on their way down the hall.

"I just can't stand that guy." Kazuna grumbled as she steamed past a pair of the other dormers who were minding the younger children and checking in on their rooms.

"Maybe he likes you?" Yui suggested helpfully.

Kazuna rolled her eyes. Yeah, fat chance of that. "I don't think so."

Yui furrowed her brow. "Are you sure, I can't determine any other reason for Randal-san to harass you. He just doesn't know how to express himself!"

Sometimes Yui sounded so clever it was easy to forget she was still a little girl too and needed Kazuna to share her advice with her. "Listen up Yui-chan, Randal's a boy, boys don't ever make any sense. He's a jerk and probably a pervert too." In fact. "And keep that in mind around my brother. He hasn't done any weird stuff lately but who knows when he might try to peep at your panties."

Yui tilted her head and smiled uncertainly. "Uhm Ban-chan, I don't think your brother is a pervert, and besides, he's already _seen_ my panties."

Kazuna felt her world grinding to a violent halt as she strangled a shriek. Ueda had already seen Yui's panties? He'd peeped! He was a peeper! Her brother really was a pervert!

"What!" She managed to choke as she spun around on Yui and grabbed her friend by the shoulders. "When did this happen? What did he do?!" If Ueda really was being a perverted boy she was going to tell Irene-sensei!

Yui froze in one of her blinking fits as Kazuna held her by her shoulders, a sure sign that she was thinking hard before answering, tilting her head. "It was when I was helping Aunt Sugu to take our clothes to the laundry. We ran into Bardiche-san and he offered to help as apology to Aunt Sugu for breaking the rules when we met."

"And?" Kazuna urged her friend to explain. Yui should be able to tell her what had happened next.

"And what, Ban-chan?" Yui-asked innocently "Bardiche-san helped us carry our laundry and . . ."

"And?!"

"Then he saw my underwear in the laundry." Yui supplied simply before lowering her voice to a whisper. "They have to be washed too you know."

Kazuna was still for perhaps five seconds, perfectly still, not even a twitch. "Y-you mean Nii-chan saw all of your laundry?"

A feeling of profound relief that her friend had gotten to keep her innocence was overcome only by mortifying embarrassment as Kazuna let go of her shoulders and turned back around to hide a blush. "W-well then . . . I suppose that doesn't count. But let that be a lesson you should be more careful." There was no telling what some pervert might do with a trusting girl's laundry!

Another nod from Yui and an innocently asked question. "Say, Ban-chan, why do you think your brother's a pervert."

"B-Because . . ." Kazuna started and then stopped and then started again. "Because I have reasons okay!" Weren't nerdy game Otaku all big perverts?

Although her brother definitely didn't look like an Otaku anymore, not at all, his blonde Sylph avatar wasn't any taller than his real self, but he'd still gotten bigger in other ways, filling out his lanky frame so he didn't look like the sort of boy who would fall over in a strong breeze. And he was frustratingly good at being a Sylph, he could fly really well, and use magic, and Takai-sensei always praised him in practice.

And he hadn't acted like a pervert either, had he? She was sure she'd seen him do something. Kazuna shook her head, well, she _knew_ he was so she would be on her guard. "Just trust me Yui-chan," Kazuna tugged at her friend's wrist to start her walking again, "Boys are _bad_ business."

The room Kazuna shared with her brother was on the far side of the floor from the bath, past an entire wing of dorm rooms and located above the entryway on the first floor.

Happy voices wafted from every open door as they passed, the children playing in their rooms, reading to one another, or just talking quietly about their day. There weren't any alternate means of entertainment, no televisions or video games, which meant they had to find other ways to occupy themselves. Kazuna spied a few of the younger children huddled around a board game they'd borrowed from the main room, in another room she spotted some of the older children playing cards.

One open door looked in on a room shared by a pair of Puca girls presently in the middle of trying to coax a bitty little pixie girl into a set of doll sized night clothes.

The girls were Claves and Falsetto, and if they hadn't been sisters in real life they might as well be now. The Pixie was named Pansy and was Falsetto's navigation Pixie, one of three of the tiny Faerie girls who lived with their masters at Arrun Home.

Small and childish, with big, curious eyes and an appetite to explore, the Pixies had been absolutely smothered with attention as tiny mascots. Irene-sensei had told everyone to be nice to them and to be extra careful that they didn't get hurt. The Navigation Pixies were being entrusted to their masters by the Pixies that lived in the wild and they all had to do their part of keep that trust.

'Maybe I should have gotten one when I had the chance.' It would have been a big responsibility now that the Pixies were real people too, but maybe then she wouldn't feel so lonely all the time.

Mom and Dad had bought her an AMUsphere once Uncle had convinced them it was safe, they definitely would have payed the extra fee if she'd wanted to have a Nav Pixie too.

But Ueda and Uncle hadn't needed one, and she'd been so determined to beat her brother at one of his games fair and square, right up until she'd learned ALO wasn't one of those sorts of games.

It was all Ueda's fault, she reminded herself, he was the one who'd left the stupid game box out where she could see it. It was his fault she'd ended up _here. _Even though she knew better, Kazuna couldn't help thinking it had actually been a trick.

They were nearly back to Kazuna's room when they were spotted by two of the older dormers arriving from the opposite direction, a Cait with a feathered dragon clinging to her shoulder and an Imp girl that Kazuna recognized even before the feline smiled and waved to Yui.

Silica, a Cait Sith girl with the biggest cat ears, and a face that scrunched up like a playful munchkin when she smiled. And Yuuki, a slight, pale skinned Imp girl with beautiful dark violet hair that fell almost to her waist and vivid pink eyes that were shades lighter than Silica's deep red.

They were older dormers at the Home and part time members of the Courier Services.

It had been pretty much impossible not to hear about the Couriers while living at Arrun Home. Some of the children never stopped talking about them helped along by the stories told by the Couriers themselves, and to be honest, it certainly sounded like a glamorous job.

Couriers, Faeries who had been chartered to deliver important packages and dispatches, each issued with a badge proclaiming their right to travel freely across the entire country.

Mostly they kept to the safety of the Tower Ways and roads, Couriers still traveled armed and often wore protective armor in case some nefarious person attempted to stop them. But mostly they were protected by their speed and agility, picked from among the most capable fliers, a good courier could deliver a package anyplace in Tristain in less than a day. Kazuna could hardly imagine how tough that had to be. It probably explained why the had been such a mess when they'd gotten back.

They'd gotten themselves cleaned up before dinner though, Silica and Yuuki's hair had long since dried out, and were now dressed in their bedclothes, Silica in a creamy floral nightgown and Yuuki in a dark violet camisole and dark shorts that seemed to suit her well.

It was as they grew nearer that Kazuna noticed the sack held one handed by Silica and felt her ear perk at the high sweet -clinking- of glass.

"There you are Yui-chan," Silica waved, "We were looking all over for you. Irene-sensei says you were taking a bath."

"Un." Yui smiled brightly, clasping her hands behind her back. "Ban-chan and I just finished. I hope you and Yuuki-san are doing well tonight."

"We're doing real good Yui-chan." The Imp girl pumped her fist at her side. "We caught that stupid cat and got paid for it too!"

Kazuna shared a mystified look with Yui. 'Cat?'

When Yui opened her mouth to reply Silica simply shook her head tiredly. "It's a _long_ story."

"Kyaa!" The blue feathered familiar trilled tiredly.

"Pina doesn't want to talk about it." Silica elaborated before her ears and tail picked up. "There is some good news though. Like Yuuki-chan said, we got payed, so we went out to the markets before they closed and got these." The Cait offered a small glass bottle first to Yui and then to Kazuna.

"For me?" Kazuna accepted the bottle of Dew Milk, eagerly anticipating the taste of creamy sweetness. Out of all the weird foods she'd had to eat, she actually sort of liked this one, maybe because she could pretend it was a nice milk drink.

"Un." Silica smiled. "We bought enough for Yui-chan and the friends she's staying with."

Kazuna felt her delight take a small hit as she was reminded about her brother, more importantly, they'd bought extra because of Yui-chan?

"Uhm, this is your room right?" Silica pointed to a door left cracked open, the warm light her brother's reading lamp spilling out.

"That's right." Kazuna said and then, shifting on her feet, decided to ask. "You know Yui-chan? Uhm, I'm sorry, I just didn't realize . . ."

"Kyaa!"

"We sure do." Silica agreed with her pet dragon. "I'm good friends with Yui-chan's Papa, ever since he helped me out a while ago." The Cait girl gave a courteous little bow. "Keeping an eye on Yui-chan is the least I can do. And it's nice to properly meet you Balandene-san."

Silica knew Yui's dad, so she must have been one of the important family friends Yui had mentioned. Kazuna bowed back politely, and for just a moment felt very out of place, like this was a very grown up and important introduction. She even blushed, just a little bit.

"The pleasure is all ours." Yuuki added as she mimicked her partner's bow. "I don't know Yui-chan's mom or dad, but Silica-chan and I are good friends, so I'm always happy to be friends with any friends of hers."

"O-of course." Kazuna said quickly, suddenly becoming very serious and mature. Silica and her partner usually didn't stay long at Arrun Home when they weren't in classes and taking care of something for Irene-sensei. They lived there, but they kept so busy that Kazuna hadn't had much of a chance to talk to them before. Now that she knew they were friends with Yui's family, she had to make a good impression. "Here, you can come inside if you want?" She offered.

"That would be great, thank you Ban-chan." Silica accepted warmly.

Yui brightened. "You can tell us about what happened on your job today. It must have been very eventful!"

"Eventful is one way to put it!" Silica laughed as she followed Kazuna through her bedroom door.

The room Kazuna shared with her brother was pretty big, she guessed, at least as big as her room back home, but it felt smaller now that she had to share it with another person. Especially a boy. She couldn't even get changed without kicking Ueda out first. So inconvenient!

The furniture was a little old fashioned too, two wooden desks set side by side against one wall, along with a wooden dresser with a mirror. A small bookcase sat underneath the window and there was a floor lamp in the corner. And then there were their beds along the opposite wall, bunk beds, Kazuna scowled as she spied her brother flopped out on his belly on the top bunk. He was dressed in his own pajamas already, blonde hair still damp but insistently beginning to return to its windswept 'default' appearance.

Ueda, he liked to be called 'Bardiche', but Kazuna was always going to think of him as Ueda, looked up from the book he'd been reading, his left hand freezing over a piece of paper where he'd been scribbling notes. Was he still studying? That seemed to be all he ever did now.

"Hey Sis, how was your bath?"

Kazuna huffed. "What's it to you? And get down and introduce yourself!" Even if he was her stupid brother he had to show manners!"

The Sylph boy looked up long enough to see the older girls and then shrugged. "We've met." And then added a small 'Thank You' when Silica offered him a bottle of Dew Milk. The drink brought a pause to his studying as he sat up and popped open the cap.

Kazuna offered Yui a spot next to her on her own bed with the big fluffy pillows and wonderfully soft comforter Uncle had bought for her, the little Faerie girl flopping down and pulling her legs up onto the bed beside her. Silica declined a spot on the bed and instead seated herself at Ueda's desk, taking her pet dragon into her arms as Yuuki sat down backwards in her chair, elbows on the seat back.

Once everyone had gotten themselves comfortable, at Yui's urging, Silica and Yuuki had told about their adventure. "Well . . ." The Cait girl had begun reluctantly. "It started when we went to see Alicia-sama this morning." Silica explained. "She said she had a job for us. I guess it was more like a favor though."

Pina cried out mournfully, prompting the Cait girl to rub her familiar's belly until she purred with content. "You see, it turns out that sometimes we Couriers can be asked to deliver something that nobody can quite find . . . "

And so Kazuna had curled up with Yui. She'd listened, and she'd laughed until she cried as the story unfolded. The Cat and the brambles they'd had to go through while chasing it. Silica and Yuuki had traded off telling the story, correcting each other between sips of their drinks until everything had been told.

"So I guess it turns out that cats don't always like Caits." Yuuki smiled mischievously. "It sure would have made things easier if we'd known that first!"

"Tell me about it." Silica, who had started to smile and laugh at herself as she retold the story shook her head. "I wish we'd brought some extra help."

"It sounds like you needed a tracker." Kazuna looked up as her brother offered his unasked for advice. It was the first thing he'd said during the entire story and Kazuna had had her doubts that he'd even been listening. "A Cait Hunter with a good tracking skill would have helped, and some good bind spells too." Ueda's expression grew thoughtful, a sure sign he was delving into all of that built up knowledge about ALO. "Maybe a decoy spell? But I don't know if those will work on animals like cats. They don't work on mobs with a strong sense of smell . . ."

"Well, I've gotten pretty good with [Choking Creeper] in practice." Silica replied. "And Yuuki-chan is an expert with shadow snare. That's how we caught him in the end, but it was tough getting close enough, it's not like our wings were much help." Silica shook her head. "That reminds me, Yui-chan, how are your magic lessons coming along. Your Aunt Leafa is teaching you, right?"

Yui nodded as she inspected her left hand. "Un. Aunt Sugu's been helping me with wind magic." A small, frustrated frown appeared on the Faerie girl's features. "It's harder than I thought it would be. Memorizing the spells is easy, but its not like the first time I used them at all."

"Well, it's not a game anymore Yui-chan." Kazuna reminded her friend gently. And that went for their magic too.

As far as Takai-sensei and the other teachers could tell, using magic was like exercising a muscle and it took constant practice to get stronger. Kazuna could vouch for that. Even though it felt weird every time she used it, she'd worked hard to master her Faerie magic, practicing spells during defense lessons until she felt weak and had to sit down. She didn't have much to show for her work yet, but she was still proud of the progress she'd made and Takai-sensei had even offered to give her extra lessons!

"I think you're right." Yui decided, letting her hand fall back to her side. "I'm just going to have to keep practicing. I bet Mama and Papa would let me join the defense classes."

"That would be great Yui-chan. Takai-sensei is really strict, but he really knows what he's doing! We have to defense lessons tomorrow, so maybe you can get permission from your Aunt."

"Well anyways, I think Bardiche-san has a point." Silica decided. "We really needed someone good at hunting to come with us."

"You mean Kino-san, right?" Yuuki swirled the nearly empty contents of her bottle thoughtfully. "He comes pretty in handy with that tracking skill of his. And I bet he would have gone right into those brambles."

Silica's ears pivoted. "You think?"

"Un. He seems like he's that sort of person is all." The Imp girl leaned back and starred up at the ceiling. "Someone who's lots tougher than he looks."

Silica looked doubtful."Well, maybe. But I'd never dream of asking him for something like that." The Cait Girl's cheeks warmed as she added. "I'm afraid he'd go and do it."

Kazuna felt Yui sit up beside her, head tilting to the side, another of Yui's 'weird moments' while watching other people. Though this time Kazuna wasn't quite sure she understood what they were listening to either.

"Afraid he'd . . ." Yuuki's eyes got big and then she started to giggle. "Silica-chan, are you saying he's . . . ?"

"It's not like that!" Silica waved her hands furiously, her faced growing redder by the moment. Her panic subsided with the Imp girls laughter as a chance opened to explain herself.

"What's the matter Silica-san?" Yui asked, all innocent curiosity. "I thought Kino-san really likes you, and Mama thinks he's a nice boy too."

"He is. I love being friends with him." Silica was quick to agree, offering Pina the last of her Dew Milk in its cap like a saucer. The Feathered Dragon went about licking up the contents greedily, crying with delight between slurps. "I was a little worried at first, but it turns out Kino-san is just the kind of person who goes all out, even if it's just for a friend." Tail turning to and fro, Silica lowered her head and added. "I'm not really looking for anyone as more than a friend just now is all."

That seemed like it would have been the end of it before Yui-chan tilted her head and asked conversationally. "So you mean you aren't thinking of taking Kino-san as your lover?"

Silica ears and tail shot straight up and Yuuki covered her mouth, the Imp girl struggling to hold back a fit of giggles as her eyes nearly popped. But that was nothing like the mortified shock that Kazuna felt to hear her friend say a thing like that.

"Yui-chan!"

* * *

><p>Silica and Yuuki had stayed and visited with them all the way to curfew, listening as Yui and Balandene took turns telling them both about their school day. But eventually Takai-sensei had walked by and poked his head inside to tell them it was time for lights out.<p>

The older girls had said their goodbyes, Silica promising to meet them for breakfast in the morning, the lights in the hallway had been dimmed, and Yui had found herself laying in bed, staring up at an [Unfamiliar] ceiling as she prepared to go to sleep.

It was quiet now, and maybe a little [Lonely] in the dark. Not that Yui was really alone, Balandene was in the bed right next to her guest futon, and Bardiche was laying in the top bunk, and beyond this one room, there were lots more people all around her, other children, and the teachers walking the halls on patrol.

Yui couldn't help but feel [Safe] and [Protected] here, her teachers were all good people, they were all really nice, even Boulanger-sensei was more [Strict] than he was mean, and she had all of her friends here too.

But it just wasn't the same without Mama and Papa, or even Aunt Sugu to curl up with when her [Worries] wouldn't go away. Even though she knew that they weren't really very far away at all, if she wanted to badly enough, she could go see them whenever she liked.

But that just made things even harder as [Conflicts] arose between her desires and what she knew was right. Her parents had gone away so that they could protect her and Aunt Suguha, because they loved them, and in order to do that, they needed her to be strong and to look after herself.

[Query] Yui wondered what her parents were doing at that moment. Turning over in bed, she hugged her pillow to her chest and buried her face in the warmth. She would have to wait for their next visit to find out.

In the mean time, Yui had a whole day of experiences to review and archive, a very important day. Closing her eyes as she let her primary through process touch lightly upon the thousands of suspended operations that had accumulated over the course of the day.

[Conclusion] It had been a productive first day, Yui thought, she'd successfully introduced herself to her classmates and navigated most of the [Social Situations] she had been confronted with. People didn't even think she was too weird . . .

[Query] Being 'weird' was okay too, wasn't it?

[Observation] In Social Interaction humans were most comfortable within a range of behavioral 'norms' defined by the people around them. Failure to conform to these norms could cause [Anxiety], [Ostracism], and [Rejection] from the social group.

Yui wondered if it would be better to act more normal, but she didn't know if she wanted to be less [Herself] just so that people would like her. [Frustrating!]

[Counter Example] Papa was very 'atypical' but he still made friends and acquaintances.

[Conclusion] She would just have to try her hardest and show her new classmates that there was lots to like about her. After all, Balandene liked being her friend, and so did Rika, and lots of the other children . . . Not Bardiche though . . .

Yui peeked up into the darkness. The Sylph boy was really polite, he'd been nice enough to help her and Aunt Suguha, but other than that, he kept his distance whenever she was around. She'd thought maybe he'd come around eventually, but when it hadn't happened, he'd started to seem a little [Scary].

'Balandene says he's just a jerk.' Yui thought. That didn't seem right though, Bardiche wasn't that careless of a person, and he was friendly with other people, at least a little. Actually, Yui wasn't entirely sure just why her friend was always so angry with her brother. He did seem a little [Neglectful] but he always helped his sister when she asked. Yui was grateful that she had Aunt Suguha and Silica to help her when she had trouble. [Query] Wasn't that the same thing?

"Yui-chan." The young Maeve blinked as she heard her name, barely more than a whisper.

"Hey Yui-chan, are you still awake?" The darkness asked.

[Localizing] [Match]

"Ban-chan?"

The answer came in the rustling of fabric and then a heavier noise as a pillow fell onto the floor. The Sylph Balandene rolled over onto her side, peering out sleepily from atop her bed. A few long strands of blonde hair had fallen across her cheek, turning a bright platinum in a sliver of captured moonslight.

"Can't sleep." Balandene whispered. "Can I lay with you?"

[Can I lay with you?] [Archive Playback] [Papa, can I lay next to you until you log out?]

"Un." Yui propped herself up and nodded.

More rustling noises and then Yui felt her futon shifting as Balandene crawled onto the floor, pulling her comforter with her. The Maeve scooted over as her friend made herself comfortable, propping her head up on her pillow so that they lay face to face. "Thanks a lot." She mumbled drowsily.

Yui's [Enhanced Sensing] function concentrated on the girl next to her, a flood of data that was [Extraneous] or even erroneous in complex social interactions where cues could overlap and change so quickly as to be useless, but just laying here, was like an open book.

Like the fact that she was suffering from prolonged general anxiety that only seemed to be alleviated when she was active, playing, visiting with friends, studying, or otherwise kept engaged. Or the fact that she was in the beginning stages of her menstrual cycle. And that she hadn't in fact been sleeping very well, not for a long time.

And then there were the behavioral abnormalities that she had observed. Balandene's [irrational] anger at her brother. Her [Emotional Arousal] when she addressed Takai-sensei. Her reluctance to use her wings or to conform to practical dress. The extreme care that she took with her clothing and hair, but the way she refused to look at herself otherwise.

When all taken together, Yui knew more about Balandene than the other girl could ever know about herself. And the only thing Yui cared about, was how she could use that information to help.

But for all of her diagnostic ability and inborn knowledge, Yui had discovered that the most important thing she could do was simply to ask.

"Are you okay, Ban-chan?" Yui whispered and then waited. She didn't have to say anything else, if she just waited, and let her friend know it was okay, she'd answer, and that was okay, Yui knew her limits, she could only help with the problems Balandene was ready to face.

The Sylph didn't reply at first, but Yui sensed her sub vocalizing a small whine as she squeezed her eyes shut. "I'm fine . . . Actually no . . . That's a lie." Scooting a little closer. "I was just thinking about home again. Meeting Silica-san reminded me is all."

Yui's eyes went wide. "Ah, Ban-chan I'm sorry!" She hadn't thought about how Balandene would interpret something like that.

"No, don't be! I'm really happy for you Yui-chan, you have your mom and dad with you, and your aunt, and so many family friends, I'm not jealous though, well maybe a little. I just miss my family is all. And my friends . . . my real ones."

[Real Ones?][Check-Query] "So, does that mean we're not really friends?" Yui felt very anxious, she'd thought . . .

But Balandene shook her head quickly. "That's not what I meant. You're my friend Yui-chan, you're my good friend because . . ." She blushed.

[Request-Query] "Because?"

"Well because," Balandene smiled. "You're really honest." Yui's expression fell blank as she attempted to put the Sylphs comment in context. But Balandene didn't wait for her to come to her own conclusion.

"Its all just like in Ueda's games." Balandene explained. "Something awful has happened to us but then everyone acts like this is normal, even the adults are pretending. Everyone wears fake faces and uses fake names. Why did everyone change so much? I just can't stand it. Everything from that stupid game is completely fake, I wish none of it had ever existed . . ." [Query-Conflict Error] The young Sylph's voice fell until Yui could barely hear. "So how come it's all real?"

Yui froze as a ripple of [Conflicts] were raised, a wave of minor [Errors] that had to be resolved or overridden as Balandene stopped and smiled. "But you're different Yui-chan. Kirigaya Yui . . . That's your real name, right?"

"Right!" Yui nodded her head. It was a [Fact] she held with complete [Conviction]. She was her Papa's daughter and Papa had given her his family name as proof of that.

"I thought so." Balandene's smile softened, she just looked so [Relieved]. "And you don't pretend like brother does either. Yui-chan is Yui-chan . . . "

"R-right . . ." This time the young Maeve wasn't so sure. It was the literal truth, but it skirted on a [Lie] that Yui had promised she wasn't going to tell.

Balandene closed her eyes knowingly. "Then you can call me Kazuna . . . if you want."

[Kazuna] [Origin : Japanese] [Gender : Female] [Literal Spelling : One Vegetable] [Alternate : Partnership, Sense, Other, Passive, Assistance, Acceptance, Intimacy, Peace]

"Ban-chan." Yui whispered almost [Reverently]. Proper names had taken a special meaning in Halkegenia as people relied on their personas to cope and survive, it had been agreed by an almost unspoken [Consensus] that held even more true among the children who were taught never to give a stranger their [True Name] as a means of protection.

That her friend was entrusting her with this . . . And at the same time, it felt somehow [Undeserved] like Yui had done nothing to earn it.

"I . . ."

"It's okay." Kazuna's hand fell into Yui's and squeezed until the little Maeve girl returned the clasp. "After all, I trust you Yui-chan. We're friends." She closed her eyes, still smiling. "This is nice, like a slumber party."

[Slumber Party] [Sleep Over] [Social Gathering] [Query] "Really?" Yui asked. "I've never been to one." [Correction] Not properly anyways. She'd slept over at places . . . But she couldn't say they had been very [Pleasant].

Balandene's eyes snapped open. "Really! Wait . . . It's because you were sick for so long, isn't it . . ." She stopped as something else occurred to her. Her smiled faded a little. "Becoming a Salamander fixed Uncle's back. And it made other people healthy too. Yui-chan, that's why you can come to school now, isn't it?"

Yui didn't think too hard about the exact logic, Balandene had offered her a chance to answer truthfully, she simply nodded.

"So that's why you're so strange." Balandene gasped. "Ah, I didn't mean to say that out loud! Uhm . . . Don't worry Yui-chan, I'll teach you everything you don't know, promise!"

"And I'll keep helping you with your homework." Yui told her. "It's going to be a _lot_ of work."

Balandene had scowled, but she hadn't stayed angry, hugging Yui tightly as she drifted off to sleep. Yui remained carefully observant of her friend's biorhythms until she was absolutely sure the Sylph was sound asleep, head nestled peacefully on Yui's pillow.

[Observation] Friends sure were [Complicated], Yui thought. [Friend] [Confidant] [Someone who is trusted or confided in.] Yui liked that. She wasn't sure how much she liked the other stuff though.

Balandene mumbled something in her sleep and Yui felt herself being squeezed tighter, and she hadn't known what else to do but to hug back and listen to the Sylph girl's breathing until . . .

"I know you're still awake." A soft, gruff voice spoke from the shadows farther above her head. Yui looked up, and saw just sharp green eyes looking out from the top bunk.

"Bardi -"

The boy raised a hand to his lips and Yui knew to keep quiet. "Is Kazuna asleep?" Even though she knew for sure, Yui checked again before nodding, it was the first time she'd ever heard him call his sister by her given name. "Good." The boy said simply, his eyes focused on Yui and a sense of unease took hold, like he knew something. Yui wondered if she should be worried.

"Uhm . . ."

"You're weird." Bardiche said flatly, stopping her before she could speak. "_Really _weird." Yui was proud of who she was, but the way he said it, like it was a [Crime] made her heart sink. "All the other kids like you, and the teacher's wont say anything mean about you. Actually, they won't say anything other than that your parents are Knights. Irene-sensei knows something but she won't tell." Then, green eyes closed. "But somehow, you're Kazu's friend too."

The change in his voice was so sudden that Yui was left [Mystified] as she listened. "Kazuna is always going out of her way to say how much she hates everything weird in this world. I guess she thinks I'm weird now too. But for some reason she's happier because of you . . ." And for a second, Yui wondered if Bardiche was finally warming up to her. Then, the cold returned as Bardiche eyes opened again.

"I don't know what the truth is. If you were really sick for a long time, or if you're a grown up who's just ducking out of a being an adult. But Kazuna trusts you. So if you hurt my little sister, I won't forgive you." And then the green eyes vanished, slipping back into the shadows and leaving Yui alone in the dark with her thoughts once more.

* * *

><p>On the second floor of the Arrun Watch HQ the wall clock had just finished gently chiming the quarter hour. It was forty five minutes into the new day, and the Offices of the Watch were quiet. Here and there a table top lamp glowed dimly at the desk of a watchmen working late and snatches of muted conversation drifted up the stairs from the lower floor.<p>

The Headquarters were on a skeleton crew that night, as they usually were. Most of the night shift were at their stations or else on patrol throughout the city, discouraging would be troublemakers and keeping an eye peeled for any disturbances. With months of practice, they were getting good at it, really good.

Four months ago, a group of self appointed volunteers striving to keep the peace had seemed like well meaning amateurs at best, badged vigilantes at worst. Nobody had thought of it as a job, much less a career. But as reality had begun to sink in, keeping order had begun to include mediating disputes and figuring out just what to do with people who had broken the [Law]. And suddenly they were doing a real job and not just managing an emergency.

Precious few of the Players turned Faeries had possessed law enforcement experience to start with, those who did had found their expertise woefully inadequate for a land of sword and sorcery, but those veterans had done everything in their power to contribute a sense of professionalism, learning a lot of hard lessons themselves in the process. It was thanks to them that the Watch had become what it was, protectors of the public order.

Along with the Defense Force and the Faerie Knights, they'd attracted a lot of attention, and a lot of attention had attracted a lot more volunteers who thought they had what it took to keep the peace and help their fellow ALfheim denizens.

Volunteers like . . .

"Hey Kasa, you're the one who signed off on this, right? Hey Kasa, are you listening?"

Seated at her desk, her inbox piled high with weekly reports, and her hands black with smeared ink, a tall, mousy haired girl, Kasa of the Puca looked up at the call of a voice she'd heard everyday now since joining the Arrun City Watch . . . then she remembered to look a little lower as her gaze was met with empty space above and the fringe of a dark head of hair near its bottom.

"Kasa?"

Just a little lower.

"What exactly are you doing?"

Lower still.

Kasa blinked blearily as the blur before her eyes, the product of too many hours staring almost exactly at a spot sixty five centimeters past her nose, began to resolve itself into a head of black hair over an ashen and serious face built around serious eyes and an even more serious frown, a Spriggan, a particular Spriggan.

"Dojo-senpai." Kasa greeted as she recognized the Spriggan, and her senior as a member of the Arrun City Watch. "Sorry, I just need to get these done for the Captain." She apologized, taking up the file she'd left open and tapping it lightly on the surface of her desk so the pages lined up and then leaned back, stretching long arms and legs. "You needed something?"

"An explanation would be nice." Her elder sighed. "These are the burglary reports from a month ago." The Spriggan waved as handful of loose leaf papers like a fan. "Why were they double filed?"

Accepting the sheets of rough paper, they were standard forms, printed in bulk by a press that had been purchased from the Tristanians. Each contained a short crime report, a victim name, date, and location, and the details of the crime. Re-reading her own hand writing the Puca's recollection was sparked.

"These are from the burglaries that were reported last month." Kasa said, reaching up to tug at one slender ear. "Ah hmm . . ."

They had been part of a string of thefts reported by Arrun residents who had found their possessions missing, sometimes from within locked chests and secure drawers. It had made a bit of a splash in the papers as the doing of Arrun's first _Cat_ Burglar, and there had been more than a few painful puns and accusations made in the editorials over _that_ choice of words.

But the problem was, other than victim testimony, they really didn't have much to go on. Evidence was thin at the scene of the crimes, and witnesses non existent. And when the burglaries had stopped as quickly as they'd begun, _that_ as they said, had been the end of that. Or almost anyways.

"I thought this was still being investigated." Kasa handed the papers back. "So I made duplicates."

Dojo's frown intensified as he returned the papers to their folder. "It's part of the Black Market investigation now, not our problem unless something else comes up. Thanks, that's one more thing I have out of my hair." The Spriggan turned, stopping halfway and nodded. "Seriously though, you should give it a rest, most of that stuff can keep till tomorrow."

Kasa grinned, working her shoulder, she had gotten a little stiff staying cooped up. "Worried about me, Senpai?"

"It's my job to worry about you, idiot." The Spriggan said simply, leaning back against the office wall. Most people didn't realize it, but Dojo-Senpai was a pretty cool guy, at least that was what the nineteen year old daughter of a police officer thought.

He didn't look like much, maybe good looking, but that hardly stood out in a crowd of Faeries who had gotten their looks from their former game avatars. He didn't have to look like much, because pretty much the first thing Kasa had seen him do was lay a grown Gnome out flat on his back. The second thing she'd seen him do was quietly straighten his clothes in the middle of a crowd of stunned onlookers and turn to the owner of the bar, and offer to pay for the chair he'd broken while subduing the drunken Faerie.

Although Kasa had never dreamed about following in her father's footsteps into law enforcement until that moment, she'd decided she _had_ to learn how to do that.

The secret of course was that there wasn't any secret. The Spriggan had been a martial arts practitioner and had applied his ALO skills and IRL experience to become the foremost hand to hand specialist in the entire Watch. Being able to take down just about anything roughly human sized and shaped faster than resorting to [Stunners] and [Binds] had given Kasa's Senpai an impressive reputation despite his stature.

Dojo-Senpai hadn't made it easy on her just because of her admiration though. Months of hard training hadn't even brought Kasa into the same league as her teacher. A relatively low level Puca without much weapons training to build up her [Strength Modifier], all she'd had going for her physically was height, strong legs, and a good set of lungs. She'd been run ragged just like every other recruit in the Watch.

It didn't matter, Kasa had been totally _pumped_ at the idea, the Watch needed the very best that it could get, and as long as she'd given her all, she'd received criticism but no complaints from her Senpai. When it had come time to be officially inducted into the Watch and she'd received her badge and aquamarine jacket from the Captain, the Spriggan had simply given a silent nod of approval.

Her graduation to the status of full Watchwoman had been accompanied by her assignment to the Arrun Library task group, keeping an eye out for sticky fingers trying to make off with sensitive books or reference materials, Faeries, and the odd local. Though how they expected to make use of a book written in Japanese mystified her. The Head Librarian was nice enough to work with though, albeit she could be a little odd about the books, and just . . . _odd_.

"Maybe you're right." The Puca got up from her desk, losing the fight with a yawn as she stretched. It would be nice to go home and crawl into her own bed, but night shift didn't end for another three hours yet and they were short handed with the Captain and Senior Officers called away. If she couldn't get a nap, maybe she could find something to boost her energy?

"I wonder if there are any snacks left in the cafeteria." A cup of hot tea sounded nice right now, and there should have been some fresh leaves left. Kasa was still trying to figure out where Bishop was getting so many rare teas, it had become quite the topic of speculation.

Kasa was on her way for the stairs when she was met halfway by a mousy looking Undine with limp blue hair and a face that looked made for spectacles. "Ah Kasa-san, you're still at it?" Ermin of the Undine's looked up from the folder he'd been reviewing. "Have you seen the Lieutenant? I need her to sign off on the temporary watch rotations."

"Those are the new patrol routes?" Dojo-senpai came up behind them.

"Yeah." Ermin scratched behind his ear. "Thinker-sama asked me to draw them up. The Captain's moving so many people North to deal with the Cu Sidhe raids that we're getting pretty short handed on patrols. I wanted to double check with Lieutenant Kirigaya before I posted these."

That made sense, Kasa thought, the Watch had hit its stride and for the day to day stuff they practically ran themselves, outside of a disaster, the most important task was making sure the patrols got good coverage on their sweeps. The Lieutenant had a gift for that sort of stuff, estimating flight ranges and time down to the last kilometer and minute and plotting patrol patterns accordingly. Flight ops were practically her specialty and even the more experienced Officers tended to trust her judgement.

"Well then, you might have a problem." Dojo said casually.

"What?" Ermin frowned. "I was sure she was staying on shift, did I . . ."

The Spriggan stopped Ermin before he could start speculating and instead hooked a thumb over his shoulder. "Over there."

"Oh good, then . . ." When Ermin saw, he blinked. "Oh." The Puca followed his eyes and saw for herself.

"Well it's to be expected." Kasa admitted, standing between Dojo and Ermin.. "I mean, this is her forth shift in two days."

At her desk in the far corner, acting Lieutenant Kirigaya was seated hunched over with her eyes closed and using a stack of papers as a pillow. Sword resting in its scabbard beside her desk, and green jacket hung from the back of her chair. The Sylph woman was still save for a faint stirring as she breathed, her pen still clutched loosely in her hand atop a half read report.

"Oh man." Ermin mumbled.

"Oh my." Kasa raised a hand to hide a small smile. "You know, I would have thought a college girl like the Lieutenant would know how pull a few all-nighters." Well, her own Senpai at university had still been a horrible mess without her beauty sleep too.

Funny though, when she was sleeping, the Lieutenant really did look like such a kid. It was utterly different from the personality she projected most of the time.

Lieutenant Kirigaya was the most junior officer of the Arrun Watch and barely off of her provisional period, but she'd already been building up a powerful reputation even before she'd been scouted, and a somewhat glamorous one at that.

If Dojo-Senpai's talent was in his fists, the Lieutenant's was definitely in her wings. She was beautiful in the sky, like she was born to be in the wind, and from every story Kasa had heard, while she was flying, she was absolutely fearless.

Most people had met her in the days after the Transition as a flight instructor going by her screen name [Leafa], and which still served as her nickname, teaching other Faeries how to use their wings without the benefit of the system tools. Starting as one of the volunteers handling the basics, she'd eventually graduated to instructing defense force volunteers in advanced aerial maneuvers and tactics.

Some of the people she'd helped had gone on to join the Watch, and from their, she'd been brought to the attention of the senior Watch staff.

People were still talking about how she'd taken the lead in the Emergency Boss Clearance Operation against Lhamthanc [The Steel Toothed] and how she'd helped to guide the entire strike force to safety. Thanks to her efforts a boss battle that could have ended in a [TPK] had been handled with almost no casualties. With an accomplishment like that under her belt, it had been hard to look her over when recruitment had started up in the wake of the Defense Force formation.

Lieutenant, at the time Watchwoman, Kirigaya had gotten herself noticed again after joining the Watch when she'd confronted a group of scummy Noblemen trying to entrap a little girl into servitude. Both her decisiveness and restrained handling of the situation had received praise and been held up as textbook displays of initiative by the senior staff. Along with an excellent probationary record and an eagerness to learn on the job, she'd been put on the short list of people to be elevated to a junior leadership position.

That decision had paid off soon after during the hunt for Reconquista Conspirators fleeing the country. Lieutenant Kirigaya had been the one to bring down a fleeing Wind Drake carrying a conspiring army officer, first by expertly boxing in the Dragon and Rider with her squad and then using a [Booster] technique to clip one of the dragon's wings while under fire and flying at the very edge of her endurance.

To think that she'd done all of that in space of just three months, it wasn't hard to see how most of the girls, Kasa included, were starting to look up to the Sylph woman as a role model. There was just one little problem . . .

"Eh? Leafa-san's a college grad?" Ermin frowned. "I had her pegged at twenty, tops."

Both Faeries stopped and stared at their slumbering Lieutenant and then blankly into the air. Her looks could have been either very mature or very youthful for her age, but that didn't mean anything, youth was as common among Faeries as good looks.

Kasa blinked dumbly. "Uhm . . . I think so?" Who had she heard it from? Or maybe she was confusing Lieutenant Kirigaya with the rumors she'd heard about Lady Sakuya. Then she remembered and brightened up. "I heard she's the Black Swordsman's sister, you know, the _Clearer_?"

She'd heard all about it online when SAO had been cleared. The Police had tried to keep a lid on the leaks but stories had gotten passed around about the kid who'd managed to win the game. That sort of stuff became an urban legend and really, if what else she'd heard was true, Kasa pitied anyone who got in his way now that he was a Faerie Knight.

No wonder the Lieutenant was so talented, it ran in her family.

"Maybe you're right." The Puca reasoned, this was trickier than she'd thought. "He's supposed to be around sixteen or seventeen so his older sister would _at least_ have to be a high school grad wouldn't she?"

"But even if that's true, who's to say she's his Older Sister?" Ermin offered. "I mean that could be the other way around, right?"

Kasa shook her head, she was at least confident on that much. "There's no way she could be much younger. She's way too confident for that. Besides, she had to give a resume to the Watch when she was recruited and I don't think Leafa-san is the sort of person who would lie on an important document." Becoming thoughtful again. "Come to think of it, Senpai, aren't you on the recruitment board? You must have seen them right? What do you think?"

"I think . . ." Both Faeries turned to their Spriggan senior. "That you two think too much." Proving that he could make faces other than frowns, her Senpai gave her a look of disappointment. "You should know those resumes are private. And besides, the Watch recruits on merit, we can't afford to do things any other way. So why don't you stop speculating about your superior." Putting his hands on his hips. "And go get a blanket and pillow from the bunk room, she's going to crick her neck like that."

* * *

><p>Author's Note: Sorry for the slow update schedule lately, there's been some chaos in the creative writing forum where I post this story. Server is dying and we're migrating to a new one, all that jazz.<p> 


	36. Chapter 9 Part 1: Enlightening Tea Party

Halkegenia Online v3 – Chapter 9 – Part 1

Kirigaya Kazuto, Kirito, the Swordsman Kirito, Beater of SAO and now Faerie Knight to the Kingdom of Tristain in the world of Halkegenia, was in a bit of a tough spot. Being married to someone like the peerless Maeve swordswoman Yuuki Asuna, Kirito realized, he should have expected to be put in these sorts of situations more often. That he hadn't in Aincrad was more a testament to how suddenly the game had been cleared.

Asuna had been, after all, a more social player. Her position as a top member of a top guild had demanded she meet regularly with the other guild leaders, unaffiliated players, and various members of the [Support Base] that aided the [Front Line].

'I should have known what I was getting into.' He thought to himself.

And he had really, in another world. For one thing, Kirito was fairly sure Asuna hadn't been good friends with any Royalty on Earth, so there wasn't much chance of getting roped into casual teatime with a Queen and a Prince.

In Halkegenia however . . . He glanced over to the young man seated across the table from Asuna. Prince Wales Tudor of Albion and then back to the contents of his teacup, inhaling the aroma. They really did pull out all the stops for Royals.

"Please help yourself Mister Kirito." The young woman sitting on the opposite side of the table smiled and gestured to the bite sized pastries that had been piled high on a platter between them. "After all, the serving staff has gone to all of this effort on our account, I'd hate for them to see it go to waste."

Nobody could tell by that smile, but the girl who it belonged to happened to be one of the most powerful people in the entirety of the small Country of Tristain. Queen Henrietta de Tristain, Queen of Tristain, resplendent in her white summer gown, reclined in the shade and daintily retrieved her teacup and saucer from the edge of the table to take another small sip.

From the top balcony of the headquarters building, the sounds of barked orders and drills were muted even to Spriggan Ears. The Army and Defense Force were still in the middle of a day of training, which Kirito and Asuna had managed to find themselves escaping by sheer coincidence.

The Queen and her entourage had arrived out of the blue that morning to perform an inspection of the troops. And as was becoming her habit, Henrietta had neglected to send word ahead of her impending arrival. It wasn't exactly a habit that was winning her many friends among her Generals, most of whom would have preferred to arrange a formal reception. But as was also becoming her habit, the Queen was much more interested in seeing how things were actually being done than she was in sitting down to watch a parade march by.

The responsibility for escorting Henrietta and Prince Wales had fallen to the two Faerie Knights. Though in retrospect, given that it appeared General Gramont had asked for them by name, and also the General's own reputation for surprise inspections, it had occurred to Kirito that this might have been less of a coincidence than he had first thought. He was going to have to have a talk with the General about that.

Soldiers, mage and commoner alike, many of whom had never seen their sovereign in person, had only remembered not to stare slack jawed as the Queen had personally introduced herself and then, even more impossibly, proceeded to speak to some of the foot soldiers directly. It must have been indescribable to men who were used to being 'seen' but not 'heard' by their Noble 'betters' that the most powerful person in the land was taking the time to address them.

Most had coped by growing flustered, even the older men becoming shy as the young Queen had asked questions and carefully listened to the answers, nodding and conferring often with Prince Wales.

The tour of the camp had eventually brought them here, to the Headquarters, in time for afternoon tea, and with their schedules effectively in disarray, there hadn't been much harm in taking the invitation extended by Henrietta.

Back in the present, Henrietta swirled her tea cup and watched the spiral currents of cream. "This really is lovely." Henrietta sighed. "You know, it's been weeks since I've had a chance to hear myself think."

"Heckling by the Nobility?" Asuna asked wearing a look of profound sympathy. Seated beside her husband, the Maeve Faerie was dressed in her off duty clothes, a knee length skirt and short sleeve, cream yellow blouse to keep cool in the summer heat.

Unwanted attention was something that the beautiful young Maeve was all too familiar with having gotten more than her fair share in Aincrad as Vice Commander of the Knights of Blood [Asuna The Flash]. Any hope of leaving that reputation behind had vanished after the transition, between her status as one of only two Maeve Faeries with the power of indefinite flight and her position as the second in command of the Faerie Knights.

"Honestly it's quite impossible." Henrietta lamented. "I don't know how Mazarin managed to keep the wolves at bay all of these years. And the ones who are seeking favor are the _worst _of the lot. I finish putting the fears of Archduke Gudendorf to rest and I'm assailed by Count Woestte, then half a dozen of La Ramee's officers need to consult me at once over some pressing decision. They have titles for a reason."

Even in the [Death Game] of SAO where guild alliances and politics had been a fact of the Front Line, Aincrad had just been [Training] compared to this. It really was too much to be putting on the shoulders of a girl who was scarcely older than Asuna and himself, Kirito thought, but she was bearing the burden commendably. They were all carrying responsibilities now that were far greater than they could have ever imagined before.

"They're stepping lightly around their new Queen." Wales gave an encouraging smile to his much loved cousin. "You could always delegate, or failing that press them to make up their minds."

"I can only delegate to as many people as I can trust." Henrietta pointed out, carefully laying her left hand over Wales' right. "And as tempting as it would be to throw my weight around, making enemies is no way to spend the windfall I've been delivered thanks to the conspirators. However," placing her hand to her cheek, the Queen added, "Sometimes it feels like a mere Queen is at her wit's end. The Nobility surely wouldn't get in line for less than a Living Saint."

Wales chucked, a motion that no longer caused his shoulders to shake as it had in the days following his near mortal injury. "I'll have you know that you're more than formidable enough without the power to perform miracles my dear Henrietta."

The Cousins were smiling at each other in that certain way . . . Kirito politely hid his expression behind his teacup. He for one was happy for them, and Asuna, squeezing his hand gently beneath the table felt the same way. It had been thanks to the love shared by the Queen and the Prince, after all, that they had found one another again.

"Now then, that's quite enough about that. Setting the affairs of the Kingdom aside, what I really wanted to talk about was the Wedding." The young Queen replaced her teacup on its saucer. "I must say this all came up rather suddenly. Sakuya didn't really give me the chance to ask, but are engagements usually so short in your homeland?"

"Not normally." Answered Asuna. "Usually an engagement can last for months, a few even go on for multiple years, sometimes it's longer, sometimes its shorter. A couple of weeks is certainly on the shorter side."

Though it was still a record beaten by their own engagement, Kirito mused, which had lasted about as long as it had taken to put their personal affairs in order and complete the marriage request. There hadn't been much point in waiting, and advertising that Aincrad's Black Swordsman and White Flash were getting married would have attracted way too much attention to have had a peaceful honeymoon in the aftermath.

Of course the details hadn't mattered much, just the end result. Their [Wedded] status in the system had served as a far greater sign of their union than any formal ceremony. And eventually, they had agreed, SAO was going to be cleared. They might have had to wait to find each other in the real world, and to become old enough that they were permitted to make that decision for themselves, but one day they would have made things official in the eyes of the law and had the ceremony.

That felt like a lifetime ago now. Two lifetimes in a way. So much had happened since that they'd almost taken their own union for granted in this world. There had simply always been something more important that demanded their attention, and not much time for themselves. What little free time they'd had, they'd tried more than anything to spend with one another and with Yui, focused more on _being_ a family.

They hadn't talked about the idea of a wedding since their reunion in Albion, not until the night that they had hosted Lady Morgiana and General Eugene at dinner. At some point Asuna's sensibilities were going to catch up and she was going to want to have the service done properly. And, Kirito examined the matching silver band on his ring finger, he couldn't help but agree. 'If we have a western style service, I guess we'll have to let Yui be the flower girl . . .'

"I see then." The Queen looked thoughtfully out over the rooftops and mustering yards of the Champ de Mars. "Well, I do hope it all turns out for the best for General Eugene and for Lady Morgiana as well. They certainly deserve some happiness and peace of mind. And also, it will be good for their new family." Though her voice trailed off, the Queen's lips curved in a small smile that could almost be mistaken for a trick of the light.

Kirito and Asuna exchanged worried looks. Of course Henrietta would know the whole truth, the real reason for the marriage, but she'd kept her opinion closely guarded until now.

"Your Majesty?" Asuna asked cautiously. "You wouldn't be thinking about _that_, would you?"

"She almost certainly is." Wales answered on Henrietta's behalf, looking amused like he always did when he was with her. "My dear cousin quite adores children. I believe she and Emily had the servants sorting through old ball gowns for your Yui."

At last, Henrietta couldn't hold it in anymore, like a dam bursting. "Do you think it will be a boy or a girl? It's too early for the physicians to say, but a little girl with her mother's hair, she'd be _beautiful_."

A hint of a blush rose to the Queen's cheeks. "I was actually quite surprised when I was told. Though perhaps I shouldn't have been. They suit each other I think." Her eyes darted to Wales and then back to her tea wistfully. "Honestly, it's rather romantic in its way. It may not have been their wish, but it has at least been their choice to do what is right for one another." Henrietta appeared to look into the distance before shaking her head. "That is more than many marriages are founded on at least."

"So you don't think it's going to be a problem?" Asuna asked, carefully taking one of the pastries from the top of the pile and nibbling at the flaky crust. An elbow covertly nudged Kirito, reminding him to take the Queen's generous offer and try some.

"Now that they've arranged the marriage? Doubtful." Henrietta surmised as concisely as if her old regent was speaking through her. "It will come out fairly quickly that Lady Morgiana is already with child. But the Nobility is very particular in its way. There are rules even for breaking the rules. The betrothed being over eager is not an uncommon thing. It will be spoken of and scandalized, and then it will become common knowledge, and then nobody will care and it will be mostly forgotten."

"Is that so?" Kirito bit into one of the pastries, the jam filling -gushed – tart and sweet.

"Just so." Henrietta's victorious smile did not waver.

"If I might add, it certainly helps that Fae are not subjects of the Church in that regard." Wales said. "The current Pope takes a rather dim view to giving his blessing to marriages of convenience."

"Mazarin _was_ counting his fortunes. I think learning about this turned the last of the poor dears gray hairs to white." The Queen agreed with a small giggle. "But since Faeries don't fall under the jurisdiction of the Church, it's a simpler matter to be sure. A rather exciting matter as well. Tell me, Asuna, just what are these weddings like? I'd love to hear."

Both Faeries sat straighter. Asuna squirmed in her chair. "Ah, your Majesty, that wouldn't be inappropriate, would it?" Some might claim it was the [Incitement to Heresy] that was delicately skirted by the Treaty of ALfheim. However, what exactly constituted [Inciting Heresy] wasn't very clear. "I mean . . ."

Henrietta's light laughter started up again and Asuna at first reddened and then relaxed as the Queen waved her hand. "I've been invited to attend the ceremony as a witness, and Bishop Rubeus had given his blessing, so I wouldn't worry. There should be no trouble with a servant of the Crown answering her Majesty's idle questions." Henrietta teased gently. "Just remember not to suggest I start worshiping your 'heathen gods' and I'm sure it will be alright."

"Un." Asuna smiled thoughtfully down at her tea. "Well then, the first thing you should know is that it's going to be a Shinto ceremony."

"Shinto?" Henrietta nodded thoughtfully. "That's your people's spirit worship, correct?"

"Ah . . ." Asuna looked momentarily startled before catching herself. "That's correct. It's the collection of beliefs of our homeland. But is it okay . . . ?"

"There's no harm in knowing this much." Henrietta assured again. "Besides, it isn't as if dealings with the spirits are somehow forbidden, Tristain would find have found itself in trouble in the past if it were so."

Right, Kirito thought, the Montmorency family. It had apparently ended badly from what Guiche had told _him_.

"They learned that the hard way trying to stamp out Albion's old tales." Wales agreed. "And the protestants of Germania. The Church concerns itself with upholding the Founder's sacred teachings and protecting humanity from those forces that are hostile to us in this world. I shouldn't think we have much to fear from the Gods of your people."

"I see." Asuna took a breath. "Well then, like I was saying, Shinto is the common faith of our homeland and its traditions go back thousands of years. But it's not actually very common these days to have a Shinto style wedding. They can be rather expensive to arrange. Usually it's what we call a Western Style Wedding which is more like what you're used to." Asuna's fingers curled and uncurled around the handle of her cup. "I guess that Morgiana and Gene-san are trying to bridge the gap between our world and this one by being married in the traditional style."

"In either case, I suppose they're the same in a way. It will have to take place at a Shrine and be officiated by a Priest, the couple will be purified and present themselves to be wed before the Shrine's sanctuary where they'll perform their vows and traditionally exchange cups of Sake to bind together their families. I think that the ceremony itself will be fairly short and private, but I've heard they couldn't stop the reception from getting a little out of hand."

"Well it is something of an affair of state after all." Henrietta said. "It couldn't be helped."

"Couldn't be helped?" Kirito felt a little doubtful about that. "I heard from Eugene that Morgiana invited her entire guild."

She may have wanted to keep the ceremony small, but the Lady of the Spriggans had reasoned that her guild mates were the closest thing she had in this world to a family, she wouldn't leave them out, especially at a time like this. All of the Kurotaka in one place, celebrating the marriage of their 'Big Sis', now that was a scary thought. And once they'd been invited, it had only been natural that the Yggdrasil Knights attend on behalf of Eugene.

The numbers had just kept growing from there until the guest list sounded more like the credits to a top end game. Mortimer must have called in a favor with Lord Rute on behalf of his brother to finance the celebration.

"Well the, that should make it all the more interesting." Henrietta sounded pleased. "I do think I'm rather in the mood for a more celebratory sort of party." Still smiling, the Queen claimed another of the bite-sized pastries for herself. "Knowing Mister Drake and Miss Shirishi, they won't allow the politics to become too overt." Washing her morsel down with the last of her tea, the Queen's eyes fell onto Kirito and then Asuna in turn.

It was a sensation sort of like right before a Mob attacked from a hidden location. First Kirito froze, and then his skin crawled as that unmistakable smile widened. Asuna had sensed it too, sitting straighter in her seat, and even Wales appeared on his guard.

"Erm . . . Your Majesty?" Asuna probed carefully.

Henrietta giggled like a schoolgirl. "It's nothing. I was simply wondering with this talk of babies and weddings, when exactly you and Mister Kirito will be giving Yui-chan a little brother or sister."

A brother or sister? A baby. In other words . . .

The Faeries flushed almost as one. The heat was only longer in reaching Kirito's cheeks because he had been fractionally slower on the uptake.

"Ah . . . Uhm . . . That's still likely to be quite a while away, Your Majesty!" Asuna raised her hands as if to fend off more speculation. "A few years at least."

"Oh?" Henrietta tilted her head and Kirito couldn't shake the feeling that she'd sounded just a little bit disappointed.

Another covert elbow to his ribs reminded Kirito that his was the part where he was supposed to have his wife's back. "Un. Asuna's right. The truth is that we'd love to give Yui-chan a younger sibling. But now isn't the right time for us to think about that. Asuna and I are both needed where we are now so that there can be a safe world for our family to live in."

Kirito exchanged a look with Asuna, seeing the same conviction reflected in her eyes, and with it, a feeling of confidence that they had made the right choice.

"Besides, as much as we love Yui-chan, we don't know if either of us is ready to start with a baby." Asuna smiled. "I'd want every chance to be a good mother to that child, just like I'm trying to be with Yui-chan."

"Very noble sentiments." Wales agreed.

"Wales is right of course. We're fortunate to have Knights such as yourselves. And I suppose there will be more than enough little Faerie children by years end in any case." Looking up into the blue sky with a mischievous expression. "Not to mention more weddings. This might give Arrun a bit of reputation I'd think." And maybe that would have been the end of it . . .

Kirito shook his head as he was reminded, not for the first time, of a certain crisis that was quietly exploding in the background of the Faerie Cities. The fact was that the Nobility would not have much grounds to judge Lady Morgiana, her fellow Faeries probably wouldn't either. Really it was as if becoming Faeries had tempted everyone to be sure that they still knew where babies came from.

"Though I suppose by now word has gotten around well enough about preventatives and such." The Queen went on.

"Henrietta!" Wales chastised with a look half of shock and half of mirth. "This is hardly the place to speak of such things."

"And why not?" The young Queen asked. "It's a matter that Lady Sakuya and I have discussed at length. I can't think it will be much longer before the more enterprising water mages see the opportunity to do business."

"You mean selling contraceptives." Asuna said, the red of her cheeks neither rising nor falling, had found a comfortable middle range as she squirmed uncomfortably in her seat. In this reality, physical intimacy carried the same risks and consequences as it had IRL. But for both of the young Faeries, that reality was at odds with their first experience together that night less than a year ago, more than a lifetime ago, upon Aincrad's 61st Floor.

"It is one of the more common uses of Water Magic." Henrietta admitted shamelessly. "Although you won't hear that said often aloud. Most are meant to work with the human bodies natural circulations, but there are charms and potions that operate more directly."

And how exactly did the Queen know this?!

Kirito exchanged another shy look with Asuna. They hadn't exactly been unaware of such things, there existence hadn't been hard to guess. In fact, Kirito had known from listening to Guiche . . .

"T-That may be." Asuna said carefully, brow twitching as she struggled to keep a civil tone. "But such things can't be completely reliable, and more invasive measures haven't been tried on Faeires. Kirito and I don't intend to take any chances just yet." Which was why they had agreed for now not to consummate their marriage physically in this real world. They had each other, the rest could wait until they were ready.

This seemed to Placate Henrietta who fell silent, and Kirito almost convinced himself that it was over until she rested her head against her open palm. "If that's all you're worried about, I suppose Mister Kirito could always make love to you as a woman."

For a moment [Blank] and then Kirito's mind finished processing what he'd just heard.

"What!"

It was a very good thing that Kirito hadn't been drinking his tea, otherwise he would have been choking as he looked aghast at the woman who now commanded his fealty. Beside him, Asuna's wings had unfurled in shock, her face had lost its battle with a blush and was now as red as a critically depleted health bar.

"Henrietta!" Wales sounded utterly mortified.

"Oh come now!" Henrietta was unfazed and maybe even a little confused at her idea's reception. "It would by just like in the _The Princess and the Princess_!"

Wales snatched his cup from the table to buy himself time and regain his composure. "Emily has been corrupting you I see." Grimacing as he took a sip. "That book is Heretical."

"And yet it is still so widely circulated. Dare I say even the Pope has likely read it by now." The Queen laced her finger before her chest in the shape of a heart. "It's a beautiful story of Forbidden Love. And don't tell me you haven't read it, you recognized the quote from Ignacious last night at dinner."

The Queen gave the smallest hint of a smile as Wales opened and shut his mouth like a fish flopping out of the water and gasping for air. She had them all now, the shock pinning them like some Arachnid Mob's [Paralysis] ability. "It's not like Shakes Pierre is the only one to have entertained the idea. Prince Leopold II of Gall wrote in his memoirs that the time he spent as a woman made him a more considerate lover."

This woman . . . Kirito half crawled into the seat of his chair . . . This woman was not what she appeared, the Spriggan realized. Like a high level field boss drawing them in with promises of choice loot. All of this time they'd slowly been lowering their guard until the trap had been sprung and she'd shown her true colors.

He almost felt bad for Wales.

"That won't be necessary your, Majesty." Kirito replied as he sank back into his chair.

"Oh?" Henrietta looked wistful again. "It really is a shame. You're so cute in black lace. And Asuna and I had so many more ideas."

Wait, Asuna? Kirito's flush turned to a blanch in record time as his head whipped around. "Asuna?!"

"Well . . ." His wife was trying hard not to meet his gaze, averting her eyes and ringing her hands, and wearing red like she was still the vice-commander of the Knights of Blood. "I love Kirito-kun no matter what his form. And there were some cute ideas we talked about for the Gala. So maybe . . . "

"Denied!" Kirito said firmly finishing his tea in one last gulp.


	37. Chapter 9 Part 2 : Wedding Planners

Halkegenia Online v3 – Chapter 9 – Part 2

Among the Faerie Races of the VRMMORPG ALfheim Online, the Spriggans, even more than the popular Sylphs and Cait Syth, had been a race that attracted a certain sort of Free Spirited player. People more interested in adventuring in an immersive full dive world in general than in completing any [Grand Quest] in particular.

Illusion Masters and Treasure Hunters with only their weapon mastery and enhanced night vision to make up for weak starting magic. Most Spriggan Players had concentrated on growing strong quickly at the cost of their faction's success. Mercenaries, Treasure Hunters, and Adventurers more or less going where they pleased and doing as they wished.

And for one reason or another, examples of every single one had ended up joining the Mercenary Guild Kurotaka, a Guild that was almost the embodiment of their Faction's [Black Sheep] spirit. Making it a contradiction, and a minor miracle, that the Guild managed to exist at all.

Normally that Spirit would be on full display at a Guild meeting like this. No matter what the world, Morgiana thought, her Little Crows could always be relied on to be almost too much to handle, every one with an opinion and eager to be heard, whether they were a veteran MMO player or a total noob riding a wave of encouragement from their friends. Not tonight though.

Tonight, they were as silent as the grave.

The Guild Hall, _their_ Guild Hall, the one that the Guild had purchased together after their first successful Jotunheim Raid, was among the largest occupied in Muisca, and like most of the City it was a thing of hidden depths. Built into renovated, half subterranean ruins and catacombs, the high vaulted ceilings reinforced by countless timbers and topped by skylights, varnished wood carpentry merged aesthetically with ancient stone to present a space as warm and inviting as any surface lodge.

The great hall built into the largest chamber, a space so big that there had never been enough Kurotaka gathered at once to make full use of it, was completely filled tonight with hundreds of ash-pale, dark haired Faeries, looking like rogues and thieves as they unfortunately tended to, mostly just looking tired. They stood or sat, filling the first floor atrium, lining the second floor balcony, and seated among the rafters, legs kicking thin air. Over hundred pairs of eyes, black, gray, and gold, were all on Morgiana, like a hundred silent accusations that made her chest ache.

_The_ Wedding, it was her wedding but she could only think of it as _The_ Wedding, was just three days away and just thinking about it was almost enough to cause her heart to stop.

They only had a little over a week to prepare, but her future brother in law happened to have an army, and Alicia could call in a lot of favors from a lot of people. While Morgiana had spent the last two days being measured for a wedding Kimono, the seamstresses working around the clock to have the garment ready in time, Mortimer had managed to have a small temple cited and _built_, the sanctuary at least, among the roots of the World Tree overlooking Arrun.

All so that this 'hollow' wedding could be as authentic as possible . . . No, she had promised herself that she _wouldn't_ think of it that way. This was going to be a proper wedding. If she was going to marry Eugene . . . Tarou . . . then the least she could do was face it with the same sincerity he'd shown her. And that meant preparing herself.

Three days wasn't much time to set her affairs in order, but the Kurotaka _deserved _to know the truth rather than being lied to until it came out on its own. They were her _Guild _for whatever that meant_. _She'd asked them to trust her. She'd asked some of them to _die. S_he couldn't have put on her charade half this long without them.

So good idea or bad, she knew she had to tell them, and she knew she had to do it as their 'Big Sis'.

It was just a hell of a way to reward them all for their loyalty and hard work and for taking the time to gather here, where it had started all of those months ago, and where she was going to end it now before it got any more out of hand.

"So yeah, I sort of messed up." Morgiana finished firmly.

She looked to her left, Shirishi noticed her glance and for a second her own facade dropped as she smiled encouragingly. Morgiana looked to her right, Drake didn't smile, then again he never smiled, but the 'soldier of fortune' did offer her a reluctant nod.

She took a deep breath, spread her arms, and leaned her weight against the balcony railing. The hardest part had been starting, knowing that no matter how they'd felt about her, after tonight, she would never be the same person to them again. She saw it in their eyes, and in the restless muttering that had started to nip at the back of the crowd. Maybe she had overestimated the [Shock] status affect, or maybe the Kurotaka were just used to recovering from shock by now. Spriggan hearing caught a few snatches of conversation, echoed by the acoustics of the 'ancient' room.

"What the hell? Is this some sort of joke?!" One of the Kurotaka scouts, K-Tengu, asked to his partner, another distinctly [Speed] type build named Margo.

"You've got me. Is Big Sis serious?"

"No way. Morgiana-sama's sense of humor is better than this!"

Nearby on the balcony level, Izaya, formerly the Kurotaka lore master and now chief info broker of the Spriggans raised a hand from his cloak to stroke his chin thoughtfully.

A cluster of girls in light [Archer] type clothing chattered among themselves in hushed voices.

"Did you hear that?"

"Big Sis is having a _baby!_"

"A little baby _Faerie_!"

"Big Sis is going to be a _mom_!"

Morgiana resisted the urge to touch a hand to her belly and feel the faint 'bump' that had begun to form beneath her lower stomach. Just as the Doctors had predicted, her body was beginning to change to accommodate the life growing inside of her. Nobody was quite sure what a Faerie pregnancy was going to be like, it depended on how much their composition was still like that of a human.

"So." Morgiana said, one word, firm. The voices were nipped in the bud, dying back down. "I just wanted you guys all to know since it's going to come out pretty soon one way or another and I'd rather that you hear it straight from me rather than get it dropped on you by someone else. That'd be a pretty lame surprise."

It felt like the whole hall was holding their collective breath, probably because they were.

"There are people who are going to want to make a scandal out of this." Morgiana went on calmly. "Some of them will be idiots like Rio trying to get attention, and some of them will be people like Regin who will have a lot of good points. They'll want me to step down as Lord." She shrugged her shoulders.

The noises rose again like the tide, voices half calling to be heard before they were drowned out by the others all around them. It seemed every one of the Kurotaka had something they wanted to say. In the end, it would all get out before the night was over, Morgiana had promised herself.

"But right now, at this second, that's not really what matters." Morgiana's said, refusing to let her voice crack. She wouldn't let them see her like that, not her Little Crows. "What matters right now is what you guys are thinking. It matters what you guys are thinking because really, I couldn't have gotten this far without you. _All_ of you." And then she smiled, she smiled for their sake, to let them no it was alright. She prayed it would be alright. "I've already talked it over with the other Lords, and I think that it's best I don't step down as Lord of Muisca right away. I'm just going do my best and see what happens for now. But you guys aren't just Spriggans, and you don't just live in Muisca. You're all Kurotaka, and when we founded the Kurotaka we made everyone equal, for better or worse." She'd always kept that promise, since the Guild's very first day. It didn't make any sense to change that policy now.

"I got careless and so I selfishly did something that could make things difficult for all of you. And now what I've done is going to bite all of us in the ass and . . ." She shook her head. "More importantly, I hid this from you guys for a while when I should have told you the truth from the beginning. So I'll understand completely if you guys decide you don't want me as your Guild Leader anymore."

Every held breath released at once, every Spriggan in the room opened their mouths trying to be the first one to speak. Morgiana had expected to hear a lot of things, their shock, their support, and their condemnation, everyone was going to feel differently, that was their right. The Kurotaka were as varied as a group could get, they all had their own reason for being here and there own reasons for staying. And she needed to hear them all.

"Oy, oy, one at a time!" Morgiana barked them quiet again. "Do I _have _to start knocking _heads_?" Again?

"Then . . . Does this mean you're not going to be Big Sis anymore?"

Half formed exclamations died at the soft, rough voice of the girl standing at the head of the archers. A wiry Spriggan with hair so black it was almost violet in the light.

It wasn't often that Marina talked at meetings. It wasn't often that Marina talked at all. The 'Sniper' of the Kurotaka preferred to get through the day on as few syllables as possible. It also wasn't often that those few words were tinged with such urgency.

"I . . ." Morgiana froze.

Since the Transition, Morgiana had seen Marina take to being a Faerie like a fish to water. She'd watched the Archer finish mobs like she'd been hunting them her entire life, and nobody had been cooler in a fight. So why did she choose now to look so anxious? So lost?

It would have been a chance for someone else to press their own question, but the Kurotaka didn't do that either. Instead, they waited, they waited for Marina to gather up the courage to continue.

"It's just nice is all. Ever since I joined the Kurotaka, no matter how big its gotten, it's always felt special." Marina continued, squinting hard as she decided less what to say and more how to say it. "And when I look around, I see what's happened didn't change that, we're all still here. So maybe this is too much but . . . " The Archer hovered on the edge of a decision and then bowed. "Morgiana-sama, you are the spirit of our Guild. Please don't stop being 'Big Sis'!"

"Marina . . ." Morgiana whispered, and then repeated louder and gently, "Marina, I promise that's not going to happen. That is," she corrected herself, "If it's what you want. I _won't_ stop being there for you guys, no matter what _else_ happens. I'm just . . . " And here it was, she began to count down a the back of her mind, keeping her voice measured as she spoke "I'm actually a little scared I might disappoint you guys again."

The muttering turned to bickering, open argument as everyone shouted to be heard by everyone else and instead drowned one another out. But Morgiana still heard it all, she felt like she was the only one who was listening.

"Disappoint?"

"Scared!"

"She messed up alright." One of the big, tank built fighters leaning against the back wall grumbled.

"Piss off Corvus!" A lithe darkness mage build and Illusion Master named Benten spat venomously. "Nobody wants to hear it right now."

"I'm serious! We're the one keeping order in this town. Now everyone's going to be bitching to us about this!"

"Where's your loyalty!"

"Is it even okay for her to stay Faction Leader?" The question echoed over the room. Morgiana's ears twitched, she bit her lip. "How can she stay Lord and not stay with the Guild?"

"D-don't be stupid, Big Sis isn't like that! Is she?"

"Screw the speculating, we should just castrate the bastard!"

"And how does that help? Idiot!"

"But hey . . . hey 'Big Sis'!" This time it came from one from another direction, Shime, eyes dark and lit with worry. "That's totally bogus right. You're not scared of anything." He sounded so earnest, so sincere, that at any other time Morgiana would probably have laughed kindly. But that was the truth, wasn't it?

'Not scared?'

"The truth is that I'm scared a lot." Morgiana admitted, her voice soft, but it carried. The last mutters falling silent. It wasn't like the shock before, this time, it was like a spell. The Spriggans were left mystified, like she was evaporating away before their eyes. "Almost all the time actually. I can't remember a time I haven't been scared."

She sighed, feeling tired all over, where had it really started? The lie, that was, where had she started to see Morgiana as someone other than herself?

"I'm not fearless. Actually I thin I've been pretty dependent on you guys to make up for what I don't have. A lot of the time all I can do is try my best." Morgiana nodded, that was putting it lightly, she didn't have Shirishi's talents, or Drake's expertise. "I thought that if I just acted like it, I could be what I needed to be. But I don't want you guys to get hurt because you're following me thinking that I'm something I'm not." She didn't want to look them in the eye. "Sorry."

That was right, it was better that way, that they see her as she was. If that disappointed them, then it was what it was.

"Man this is bullshit!" Someone shouted near the center of the crowd, K-Tengu stuffing his hands into his pockets. "What kind of crap is this? Morgiana."

"E-Excuse me . . .

"Shut up and let Big Sis finish!" Benten barked.

"Excuse me!"

"Hey, Name-chan has something to say!"

"Well why doesn't she just say it?!"

"Well why don't you stop yelling!"

"Oy, oy, let the new guy talk already." Drake intervened. "She has a stake in this too."

Morgiana's eyes were drawn to a lone Spriggan standing near the back of the cluster of archers, though decidedly not an archer herself. The archers parted for her, giving Morgiana her first good look at one of the Guild's newest members.

As a girl she was both slim and quite tall for her apparent age, with features like the cool bishounen protagonist of a manga, right down to the lank hair that fell loosely between her eyes. It was sort of a shame she was Name-_chan_ rather than Name-_kun_, she would have been a handsome swordsmen. She tended to act the part too, of a boy that was, maybe to go with her look.

Dressed in simple form fitting black clothing. Black trousers, shirt, and jacket. Something nagged at Morgiana, a vague familiarity that she couldn't quite place, if she had to guess, Name-chan reminded her of someone was all.

The girl stopped when she reached the front of the archers near the foot of the stairs and then looked around as if she was almost surprised to find herself where she was. That feeling of coming out of a trance as you realized you weren't somebody else . . .

"Thank you, Drake-san, for letting me speak." Name-chan gave a simple bow to the mercenary beside Morgiana. "And also, thank you Morgiana-sama for creating a place where I _can_speak."

"Hello everyone. I suppose that since I'm still new to the Guild that everyone can just call me Name-chan. That's okay, it's a title that other Name-chan's have worn with pride before me while they learned to be strong Kurotaka and help the Name-chans that came after them. So like my name implies, I'm a newcomer to our Guild and only know a little about its past and what it means to be a Kurotaka. But I do think I know enough that I can speak now."

The swordswoman looked up at her Guild Leader, meeting her gaze with her own. "Morgiana-sama, Big Sis, I'm sorry, but I think you have some very important things backwards."

"Oh?" Morgiana frowned. "How do you figure?"

Because from where she stood, she was pretty sure she'd messed up bad, and there was no putting the cart before the horse when it came to that. If she'd just kept her panties on they wouldn't have been in this mess. But if she was honest with herself, the mask would have cracked eventually and probably at a worse time. Who had she been kidding? Mirai Momoko had become a stronger person, but she wasn't nearly strong enough to be a person like Morgiana. All she'd been able to do was act the part for a little while.

Name-chan was slow to answer. At first she was just silent, breathing in and exhaling, breaths growing slower and deeper as she closed her eyes. "The point of a Guild is to look out for each other." The swordswoman raised her hand, palm up and then closed it into a fist. "That counts for the Guild Leader too. Helping each other also means sharing in one another's hardships and burdens. The Kurotaka wouldn't still be here if that weren't true."

A smile on her lips, Shirishi nodded as if listening to distant music. Marina's head bobbed furiously at every point. Drake, well Drake just shrugged, or grunted at what sounded good. The closest Spriggans to Name-chan were muttering their approval and commenting to one another.

"I'm so very grateful for that selflessness." Name-chan's smile grew pained. "Actually, it wasn't until just before the Transiton that I worked up the courage to try Full Dive again. I'm not even sure why I did it. I suppose it was because I heard a rumor about someone I respected doing the same thing, maybe that was a good enough reason."

"Then the Transition happened and I . . . " The girl's voice tightened, it strained not to crack and almost failed. She clenched her fists. "It was like I was reliving an old nightmare, over, and over again, like I was trapped and couldn't get out. I knew what was happening, and what was going to happen, but I didn't even think I could move. That's why I needed to do something, anything. I wanted to protect people, I wanted to protect them with my own strength, but I felt so _powerless_. Compared to what brought us here, I didn't think there was a thing I could do."

"Maybe there still isn't, on my own. But being with the Kurotaka has taught me that there is no shame in lending one another our strength, or leaning on one another when we're weak. That's also why I know exactly the sort of person you are, Morgiana-sama. All of us do. And we'd still follow you, at least, that's what I think."

Morgiana blinked. Just what was Name-chan getting at? That wasn't true, it couldn't be. People didn't follow people like _her,_ not really, they followed people who inspired them, people who were larger than life, who were brave and noble. She was just a pretender, not nearly strong enough for those things.

"And what sort of person am I?" Momoko almost snapped. Just who did the Kurotaka think she was that they would insist like this? What was so special about her? And then Name-chan's answer hit like a kick to the stomach.

"I think, Morgiana-sama, you're the sort of person who knows a lot about being weak and scared." The words echoed into oblivion before the first dissenting voices began to shout, silenced by Drake's impatient bark for order and a suddenly very unamused Shirishi urging Name-chan to go on.

"Forgive me if I'm wrong, this is just my impression." Name-chan continued quickly, nodding thanks to the Guild Lieutenants for letting her speak. "But that's why you keep pretending all the time, isn't it? And it's also why you founded the Kurotaka, and kept them together after the Transition. You understand that people can be very weak when they're alone. It's easy for us to give up on ourselves. It's only when we're strong for each other that we can make a difference. That's what I think . . . And I think its what you believe too 'Big Sis'. So please consider that before believing you know how we feel."

And then Morgiana was left almost speechless as Name-chan added. "You really think we'd want to abandon our Big Sis, just because she's having a baby?"

Just . . . _because_ . . . ?

"But . . ." Morgiana started. It was a _baby, _an entire little person! She'd gone and gotten herself knocked up and they were really okay with that?! She'd . . . she'd . . .!

"I think everyone here can agree that we're happy for you, Morgiana-sama." Shime said, still with that impossible smile. "That is, as long as you're happy. That's important to us, because you've taken such good care of us all. So now let us take care of you too, Big Sis!"

Then, nodding as if satisfied, Name-chan took a step back to declare that she was done. The short bow archers around her all gave the girl encouraging looks and murmurs of thanks. It seemed Name-chan had been speaking for more than herself.

"Name-chan is right you know." K-Tengu declared loudly, still posing in that lame way with his hands stuffed in his pockets. "I mean, we all know you act tough for our sake. That doesn't mean we think you're someone you're not, it just means we think you're _nuts_. But a baby huh?"

"Yeah, we just thought you were crazy 'Big Sis'." Shime laughed out loud. The others were starting to smile and snicker. "It's kind of a relief to know you're just having a baby."

"Who say's she _isn't_ still crazy? Idiot." Nori smacked her guildmate on the top of his head.

"Big Sis, Big Sis, does this mean you'll need sitters?" One of the archer girl's cried.

Sitters? As in babysitters?! Morgiana rocked back, to her right, Drake bit off a sharp snort that might almost, _almost_ have been a laugh.

Folding his arms beneath his cloak, Izaya smiled smugly. "Well, only _our_ Guild Leader could be sincere enough to get people to call her 'Big Sis' with a straight face."

Nice try, she hadn't been the one to come up with that name, it had been the Kurotaka and the other Spriggan players who had started calling her that. All she'd really done was be friendly and get to know them. ALO had been _their_ world, and they should have been able to enjoy it without people dragging along real world problems. Problems like bullying, and prejudice, and fear.

"So does this mean we got to start calling you 'Mom', 'Big Sis'?"

"Not on your life, she's always gonna be 'Big Sis' to us. Idiot."

_These people_.

"Why don't you keep calling me that?" Shime challenged.

_These thoroughly eccentric people_ _who managed to laugh and smile in spite of it all._

"Idiot? Idiot idiot idiot idiot . . ."

_And they were the ones thanking her._

"Stop calling me that!" Shime fought to pull Nori's hand from his messy hair.

Momoko bowed her head, trying not to laugh. 'It's good, isn't it Big Sis?'

"Hey, Name-chan." Morgiana called the room back to attention.

"Yes Big Sis?" Name-chan looked up from her friends.

"Name-chan, or actually your name is Ku-"

The swordswoman raised her hand to stop her. "That's okay, Morgiana-sama, there's still a lot I need to learn, so I think it's better if I stay Name-chan for right now. Besides, I didn't do anything amazing, I just said what we were all thinking."

"Maybe if Big Sis wasn't so crazy she would have thought to ask us how we felt!" Nori declared as she held Shime in a headlock. "Ain't that right, idiot?"

"Ow, ow, ow, okay stop!"

"Alright then." Drake declared loudly, stepping up to stand beside her. "Lets stop beating around the bush then. Simple show of hands, how many people here think Morgiana should remain Guild Leader." The mercenary raised his own hand to be the first. "By the way, you'd have to be at least as nuts as her to want the damn job."

"It's hard enough with the troubles that come to me." Shirishi agreed, lifting her own right hand. "I can't imagine _looking_ for trouble, Darling."

Hands rose, one by one, through the Guild Hall until Morgiana lost count. But Drake was good at this sort of stuff and in the end they tallied one hundred and fifty five in her favor, out of one hundred and eighty two Kurotaka present. Twenty seven, because there were always people who disagreed, but they cared enough to stay despite that, and when the tally was done, they cheered the same as everyone else.

* * *

><p>"Hey Touba! Touba-kun, where are you?" A small thin voice carried through the trees seemingly without source, or at least a source that could be discerned by the naked eye. "Touba! Hey Tooooobbaaaaaa! Oh . . . There you are Touba-kun. Uhm . . . are you okay?"<p>

Raising a hand to wipe the mud and shame from his face, slowly, Touba, the Cait Syth Touba, bit his tongue before he said something regrettably mean to the hummingbird sized Miko hovering above the stream. "Oh, I'm just fine, Keshi-chan." Except he wasn't. "I just slipped is all."

Which was to say he hadn't been fast enough to get his wings out before he found himself face planting into the stream's shallows like an idiot. Some nimble Cat Faerie he was. Really, that tree root had come out of nowhere.

Water was too wet and summer was too hot, taken together they were a recipe to be absolutely miserable even before Touba had learned their true accursed status as a Cait Syth. Back in another life, on another planet, he'd moved out of the country to get away from this sort of stuff. He'd thought he'd put his days without AC or the other modern conveniences like well paved roads and insect repellents behind him. But it seemed the gods had finally noticed one of the humans who, at the best of times, hadn't had much nice to say about them, and decided to have a little fun at his expense.

Which was why Touba was sure that out there somewhere, some deity was laughing at him right now, along with grandfather. 'Yeah laugh it up Grandpa.'

For her part, Keshi merely tilted her head and batted big, dark eyes innocently. "So this isn't part of one of your rituals?"

"Not . . . Particularly." Touba hiked himself up, spreading his arms wide as his sopping wet clothes soaked to his skin and his sodden tail hung limply, a chill running up his spine as his fur acted as a wick and began to cool the rest of him. At least he'd managed to toss his pack out of the way in time, so his lunch was saved.

"Oh." The tiny Miko whispered. "Well then, if you aren't hurt, shall we continue on?" Said with a small midair bow and an elegant gesture like the refined young woman the Pixie perfectly resembled.

Nodding and gesturing for Keshi to go on ahead. Following the hovering Pixie on their upward climb through the forest gave Touba plenty of chances to study her. On closer inspection, there were rough bits to her Miko attire that made it obvious it hadn't been manufactured by the resources of a Faerie settlement, but rather patched together by the Pixies who made their clothing from scavenged plant and animal fibers and who had created the traditional garment from nothing but rough sketches and descriptions. Still, to the casual observer it was 'good enough'.

As for Keshi herself, humming chants as she fluttered at his side, well, Touba had to admit she was a beauty. It was the impression he'd had since they'd first met. Snowy white skin, long, jet black hair that she'd tied back with a bit of scavenged twine, and a face and voice that just dripped with warmth and honey. It didn't hurt that people these days didn't hold a candle to her manners, or that she laughed at his jokes, the ones he'd managed to explain to her anyways.

Looking up through the forest canopy and hefting his small load, Touba sighed again. Go figure he'd finally find a woman he clicked with after being shot across the universe, only for her to be about a thousandth of his size and also, technically, sapient _fruit_.

But it was _because_ of Keshi and her sisters that he'd decided to settle here of all places. The forests held sacred by the Pixies had been as good a place as any to try and better than most. He just wished it wasn't such a pain climbing all the way up into the hills above the village.

"It's just a little ways further Touba-kun." Keshi insisted, tuttering gently to herself as she saw him beginning to slow down. "Please bear with it. Are your wings rested enough yet? We could fly the rest of the way."

"The exercise is good for me." The Cait insisted.

And sort of a penance for training only his magic ability to be a powerful mage. Though he wasn't out of shape, and he doubted he was going to get that way with the amount of hard labor and walking he'd been doing, nobody was going to mistake him for one of those blatant superhumans with maxed STR either.

"It's a shame." Keshi said with an innocent laugh pure as chimes. "If you were still a proper Sister you wouldn't be so heavy for your wings to grow tired."

"And if I were a proper Sister you'd have been out of luck when you needed someone to help you with the stream. I seem to remember that was causing you some trouble when we first met." One of a lot of firsts with Keshi in fact.

"We would have managed somehow." Keshi insisted. "There's a dire wolf pack that owes us for helping with their litters, we could have worked with them to redirect the stream."

"Then how about cooling that hive down so you guys could raid it for honey." The Cait continued, grinning slyly. "If I remember right, didn't you eat yourself sick on honeycomb?"

The Miko dressed shaman paused in midair, her eyes growing big. "It's not going to my thighs!" Touba stopped midstep to stare at the horribly blushing Pixie who had realized her outburst only when it was too late. Her pale skin only made the flush all the more evident as she squirmed from side to side. "I mean . . . erm . . . I'm already big enough _here_ and _here_." She emphasized her chest and her hips. "Momoirobara is already accusing me of getting fat!"

"So you guys worry about that sort of thing?" Touba mused aloud. They really _were_ female.

"Well of course. It wouldn't do to get too heavy. Not cute at all!" Keshi explained. "Besides, it would be frivolous, extra food should be stored up for winter."

"If you say so."

Which made Touba wonder just how winter was going to work for the Pixies. He'd helped them to move some of their food, stockpiling it in one of their nests that was itself almost nothing but a gigantic clay jar as tall as a man and half buried into the ground. Honey, nuts, and anything that they could preserve by drying, along with enough tinder to keep the hearth fires at the heart of each nest smoldering for heat.

The Pixies seemed to think they could sleep through the winter, curled up to keep warm, and maybe that was one of their abilities now as living creatures, but Touba didn't think the Faerie Lords were going to let them do that without someone around to watch and be sure they were alright.

Come to think of it, the Faeries needed to get ready for winter too. Some of the Cities, like Goubiniu and Tau Tona were built for the cold, and some of them like Olrlein and Cadenza especially, quite simply weren't. The two day old paper he'd snagged from a passing group of hunter had talked about it in the current affairs section.

Bleh, it was going to suck if things got cold in the cities. If there was something he hated more than being hot or wet it was being cold.

The Cait returned to his skywatching as they traveled, listening to Keshi's comments and answering more or less on autopilot. This really was an out of the way part of the forest, if he hadn't had his wings, there would have been no way he could get all the way up here. Which also made it perfect in another way, the local Baron didn't mind too much what he did up here. In fact, when he'd gone seeking permission he'd been told he could do as he pleased so long as he didn't hunt the boar or [Great Lumbruxs] or start clear cutting the forests which the Pixies wouldn't have allowed anyways.

This Baron had been getting along well with Freelia which sat pretty close to his family's major land holdings and it sounded like he'd hosted Lady Alicia a few times so he didn't mind Faeries much either. Which was good . . .

Reaching the top of the hill, the gurgling of the stream softened and then faded almost to nothing as he crested the summit and looked up, and up, and up at the corkscrew trunk and the great dandelion crown which emerged from a stony island at the center of pool of pure spring water.

He'd needed a properly sacred place for all of this, and it seemed to him that if there was anyplace sacred enough to be a home to the Kami, this would probably be it.

Touba, the Cait Syth Touba of Freelia, and the business major Chiba Touma in that other world that felt more like a dream with every passing day, son of an accountant and grandson of a Shinto Priest who'd never quite gotten around to entering the twenty first century.

It would have been his fate too if Touba hadn't refused vehemently around the time he was finishing high school. Not that Touba blamed him or anything. His grandpa had been a decent man, he just hadn't understood the times was all. People in this day and age were just less devout. Taking himself as an example, Touba had gone through the rituals as a boy, he'd helped his grandfather caring for the shrine and its sanctuary, and preparing for all of the festivals and ceremonies, but after moving to Tokyo he'd barely visited at all.

He went when he was expected to, like at New Years to pray for good luck, and he wasn't stingy with his donations, but it just hadn't seemed to matter so much. Something that you did out of a lingering sense of tradition without even knowing why. Even his friends, he'd been to five weddings in the last six years, all of them had been the Western type, it was just easier and cheaper that way.

The truth was that people didn't care like they used to, not these days. Or at least, they hadn't. The Transition might have changed that. It had changed a lot of things. And maybe there was a reason for that, Touba thought.

He wasn't a scientist, he sure wasn't trained in any of the fields of study that might explain how they had all been transported to this world and transformed into Faeries. He was sure he could never comprehend _how_, but maybe _why_ was within his reach, if he was humble enough, and if he remembered what his Grandfather had taught him.

There were kami in this land, the Spirits like those of Ragdorian Lake, they communicated with humans and they intervened, sometimes on their behalf and sometime retaliating for transgressions. And there were the other creatures, some native, and some plucked from ALO and made real, some hostile and some benign.

Anyone who spent any time in the forests would have a chance to see that for themselves. The [Astral] type mobs that mostly kept to themselves, and the shadowy forms that would freeze and melt away when they realized they'd been seen.

This world was still vibrantly overflowing with the supernatural clear as day and people weren't quite sure how to handle it. But the grandson of a priest was trying at least, performing the half remembered rituals taught to him by his grandfather. He didn't know if he was doing it right, but other people had noticed, some of them had even appreciated what he was doing. And some had been sort of angry. The Cait rubbed his jaw as he recalled a run in that had gotten out of hand.

And then there were the Pixies . . .

Approaching across the grass and moss covered bank of the spring, a colony of Feathered Dragons watched from the low branches, brooding females and their downy pups observing with red and golden eyes as a dozen hummingbird sized shamans drifted down to sing greetings to Touba and his guide.

"Good morning Touba-san." The lead Pixie, dressed like Keshi in Miko attire, called out. She noticed his still sodden clothes and smiled. "I see that all did not go well traveling here today. I hope it didn't turn into too much of an adventure."

"Just a small misstep, Momo-chan." Touba answered as he greeted the Eldest Sister of the Garden of the Western Hills. The Cait waved politely and stopped to set today's offering on the a stone beside the spring. "Lucky that I didn't drop this though." This wasn't an offering for the kami, but instead for the Pixies who generously allowed him to use this place.

Opening the parcel revealed a stack of flat, gold, waxen wafers covered in hexagonal cells. The shamans growing excited as they fluttered down to see for themselves.

"Ah, this is very generous Touba-san!" Momoirabara bowed politely. "Very, _very_ generous. The Little Sisters will be delighted."

"It's nothing really." Touba told her. "I did some work for the village and they gave me this to go with my lunch. But honestly, I think honey is maybe a little too sweet for me." Taking the chance for a rest, Touba sank down onto the soft moss with another sigh. The cool water of the Spring, coupled with the shade, did wonders to fight off the summer heat.

"Of course." The Shaman clasped her hands together. "And thank you again. Will you be continuing where you left off yesterday?"

"That's the plan." Touba said as he leaned back and closed his eyes for a moment, not intending to fall asleep but simply to rest his eyes.

It had been a real pain getting all of the supplies up here. Just getting the tools had been a hassle. And he'd only just started. Lucky he'd been able to enlist help with the woodcutting and carpentry, though he could also do some of that himself, and the Pixies had directed him to some old growth trees that needed to be cut to help the saplings growing in their shadows.

'I can probably get the gate finished myself. But I'm going to have to take Alden and Alicia-sama up on their offer after that.'

"Say, Touba-kun?" Keshi asked as she floated down to land lightly on his chest.

"Hmm?" He opened one yellow eye.

"This one's going to be a lot bigger, isn't it? I was just wondering if you were going to build another sanctuary like the one you made for the Hunters."

The Cait closed his eyes again and leaned back. "Oh that." He answered. But it was in Keshi's nature to ask these sorts of questions, she was forever curious since they'd first met.

At first the Pixies hadn't quite known what to do with him, a Faerie who wanted to come to their Shoot and perform his own weird rituals. They'd been more than a little mistrustful, the Knights shooing him off after only a short time the first day, and every day after until he'd finally broken down and resorted to bribery.

After talking with the some of the Beast Masters, he'd settled on sweets. The Knights after all were essentially a swarm of perpetually angry teenage hornet girls, and if there was something girls and bugs had in common it was their love of sweet stuff.

They'd boggled at his first gift, a slice of carrot cake bought fresh from the bakers in Freelia, suspiciously prodding the confection until one of the Knights had grown brave enough to take a small nibble, and then nearly buried her face in the frosting. Two dozen Vespid Knights had managed to devour over half of the fat slice of cake, demolishing their dignity in the process.

His peace offering had won Touba an audience with the Shamans who had been quite a bit more reserved about a stranger wandering around their [Sacred Place], but there too he'd been able to explain himself and, with some reluctance, received permission to stay.

The reluctance was fine too, it just meant he'd had to prove himself, first by doing no harm, and then gradually by helping the Pixies and their Garden. They thought of themselves as the Children of Yggdrasil-kamisama, so if he was going to do this, he needed to show good faith. His efforts had been rewarded, almost more quickly than he could have hoped.

The Shamans had watched him at first, and then asked about what he was doing before retreating to confer among themselves. The Sisters who tended the Shoot under the watchful eyes of their elders had been friendlier, more trusting, the tiny girls chattering endlessly as Touba ate lunch and asking questions, lots of questions, it had been a chance for him to slow down and explain, like he would to a child. They _were_ children.

To explain about the kami that inhabited the world, and the lineage of ancestors and descendants in which all people existed and the plane in _which_ they existed with all of their generation. Momoirabara had listened and even questioned, she must have approved of some of his answers, he supposed.

Then one day, when he'd come back after an excursion to Gaddan, he'd found the sisters in the company of a beautiful Shaman named Keshi. She had come to him dressed as a miko and blushing furiously as she introduced herself. She probably wasn't sure if she looked right in her new clothes, but as far as Touba had been able to tell, she'd been perfect.

Momoirabara had instructed Keshi to by his intermediary and for the Shaman to learn all she could at his side. The Shamans had a weakness of their own, not only to sweet things but to ceremony as well, something that made Shinto especially fascinating to them. More than a few of the Shamans had begun to integrate parts of Touba's own ceremonies into their rituals, their prayers, and even their dress. Anything that they viewed as enhancing their care for Yggdrasil-kamisama had been eagerly accepted and merged with their own system of worship.

Perhaps just as importantly, the Shamans had been excited to see their 'Errant Sisters' turning their attention back to their Great Mother.

And so it had come that Touba, with Keshi's help, had been given permission for the simple shrine that he had wanted to build here. It was not his first, he had constructed two others, one in Freelia with the Permission of Lady Alicia and the help of the city council, and another miniature shrine on the grounds of the village at the foot of the Pixies hill for the benefit of the hunters and crafters who lodged there. But this would be different, a properly sacred place that the Faeries could seek out, and maybe receive some blessing of peace and good fortune in a violent and unfortunate time. This was what he could do.

"This shrine is going to be bigger, but it's a lot more modest." Touba explained. "I _think_ that Yggdrasil's shoot should be sacred enough that it won't need a honden. Since Yggdrasil-sama exists as the World Tree, that should be enough."

Keshi looked up at the shoot, eyes dark and thoughtful. "I see."

"By the way, Touba-kun," Momoirabara extracted herself from a small ritual of thanks long enough to call to him, "You should know that your friends are waiting for you where you left your tools."

No sooner had the Cait heard the Shaman's words then his ears stood on end. "Nyeh?" Touba barely noticed Keshi's tiny squeal as he shot up, catapulting the Shaman into the air. "Friends?"

"Yes." Momo tilted her head innocently. "They said they've been looking for you for several days. Really Touba-kun, you shouldn't worry your sisters so much!"

'They're not . . .' The Cait shook his head, not important right now. Climbing back to his feet and hurrying towards the far side of the shoot where the trunk overlooked the village and he had planned to construct the Shrine, he was presented at once by signs that he was not alone.

There were at least a dozen of them and they were all clad in red and black. Red armor and black cloth, and somehow completely unfazed by this miserable heat as Touba grew near and noticed just how ornamental their high grade armor was. Salamanders, and Elite ones at that. This was pretty far from their zone of responsibility too, practically dead center in Cait Syth territory. Something was off.

Touba might have been surprised to see them, but they looked completely unsurprised to see _him_, one of the lookouts nodded his way before returning to sweeping the area.

"Uhm . . . Touba?" Keshi whispered, hovering closer to cling to his shoulder.

"Shh. It's okay." The Cait comforted. "Momo-chan let them stay so they probably don't mean us any harm." Probably. Besides it could just be an ordinary patrol out here.

So with that in mind, Touba straightened his back, stretched his tail and marched right up to the one who seemed to be in charge, a silver haired woman, shorter than his own slightly less than average hundred and seventy five centimeters and currently examining the tools and work space he had begun arranging for himself.

"Hey. I mean . . . E-Excuse me!" It was like they weren't even paying attention damn it! "Can I help you?"

The silver haired Salamander glanced to him with bloody eyes. "That depends, are you Touba-san? We were told we could find you here."

"And who would like to . . . to . . ." The young Cait Syth fell silent as a second Salamander rose from a crouch, dusting himself off after examining his supplies.

"You've been quite difficult to find for a spiritual guide, Touba-san." The man was pale, not much taller than Touba, with bloody red hair and eyes, and dressed in high grade lightweight armor under a mage's cloak. A look of mild interest passed fleetingly across his face as he looked the frozen Cait over. "Lydia, I do believe this is who we are looking for."

He'd never seen him in the flesh before, but it wasn't hard for Touba to guess who this person was. The heavy bodyguard, the cool and aristocratic air. He was unmistakably the Lord of the Salamanders, Mortimer. Just what the Salamander Lord was doing here or why he wanted to see someone like him, Touba had no idea, but he couldn't imagine it was anything _good_.

"And what do I owe the honor, Mortimer . . . I mean . . . Lord Mortimer . . . erm or just Lord!"

"Touba!" Keshi cried out before he silenced her by covering her with his hand.

Mortimer waved to one of the lightly clad Salamanders at his side, a girl who looked to be about twelve but whose eyes and manners suggested she was a lot older. She took something between her hands, a length of cord, and straightened it with a cringe worthy -snap- before stepping up stretching it from Touba's wrist to his shoulder and then doing the same between his shoulders.

"Uhm . . . What is . . . ?"

"Pay it no mind." The Salamander Lord explained as casually as if he were discussing the weather. "Now tell me, I've been informed you're something of a Shinto practitioner. Or at least," the Salamander Lord's eyes narrowed dangerously, "That is how you have been selling your services to the people. Is it not?"

"Well . . . just a little . . ." Touba felt a growing urge to take a step back and curl his tail between his legs. "Honestly I'm more of a dabbler and . . ."

The woman who Mortimer had referred to as 'Lydia' chose that moment to cough into her hand. "My Lord, I believe we've discussed this before . . . Your _image_."

"Pardon?" The Salamander looked away and almost at once the spell was broken, Touba could breath again.

"You were threatening him, my Lord, that is not acceptable."

"I was merely impressing the gravity of the situation upon him." The Salamander Lord replied calmly, his voice revealing no hint of strain.

Wait. "Uhm, situation?" Touba raised his hand.

"Hmm? Yes." Mortimer looked back to him, blinking eyes like a cold blooded lizard. "Let me apologize for my lack of manners, as Lydia said, that was most certainly rude of me. I am merely following Lady Alicia's advice. You see, I am in need of a qualified Shinto priest, but as it would happen they've proven rather difficult to come by. I understand that you've been practicing the faith and would like to know if you would feel qualified to officiate."

"Off . . . Officiate . . ." It took several moments for the word to worm its ways down through the Cait's numbed brain, but when it did. "As in a wedding!"

"Why yes. In point of fact, I'm sure even spending your time away from the settlements you've heard about my Brother and Lady Morgiana's betrothal. Of course the marriage is simply ceremony, the paperwork will all be filed in advance, but I believe people would appreciate the added authenticity. Besides . . ." Mortimer nodded at gathered building materials. "It would really do for our first wedding to be proper and traditional."


	38. Chapter 9 Part 3: We Are Gathered

Halkegenia Online v3 – Chapter 9 – Part 3

Though it had been the topic of gossip and message board hearsay for over a week, the marriage of Lady Morgiana of the Spriggans and General Eugene of the Salamanders still arrived almost as if unexpected, a reflection of the surprise in the wake of the initial announcement. On the morning of the wedding, Banners had been draped from the top of Arrun Tower and hoisted from the halls affiliated with the Salamanders and the Spriggans to show solidarity with their faction Leadership.

Nearly everyone in Faerie Settlements had an opinion on the subject, whether it was delight for a 'State Wedding' or disparagement at the thought of 'LARPing' gone too far, and nearly everyone had experienced the preparations touching on their day to day lives, if only as a reminder of home and the old normal they had left behind.

And as the day neared, anticipation grew, and festivities commenced, a sort of cascade took place where in the excitement carried contagiously from one person to the next, regardless of opinion, and grew and grew.

It might have been scoffed at to call it a State Wedding, but it was the marriage of a Faerie Lord and the Fae's Heroic General, so a State Wedding it would be, and one that would be remembered as the _first_ State Wedding. Accordingly, no expense had been sparred.

It was to be a Shinto ceremony, a traditional wedding, which meant a shrine would be needed. None had existed in ALO before the Transition. As expected of the Salamander's logistical genius, that problem had been promptly corrected by order of Lord Mortimer.

Faeries with contracting experience had been consulted. Research had been done. An appropriate location had been selected and plans drawn up. Materials had been purchased. And a small army had then descended on the roots of the World Tree where the earth formed a hill like embankment overlooking Arrun proper.

In just a few short days the Shrine had been erected and then made a proper residence for the kami with the help of a young Cait Syth priest. The choice to dedicate the shrine to the spirit of the World Tree was politely noted by some and wisely overlooked by others. Most had agreed that it wasn't perfect, but hopefully the sincerity would be enough.

Aside from the Shrine, there would be other necessities, the groom and bride's Kimonos and those for the witnesses and officiates, all traditional garments that while approximated, had never been duplicated in ALfheim.

Every tailor and seamstress in Arrun had been contracted for the event and commissioned to work around the clock, bolstered by a deal that payed for the materials upfront and the promise that their craftsmanship would be seen by ranking members of the Kingdom's Nobility including no less than Queen Henrietta herself.

Silk had been purchased from harvesters in Freelia and Khalid Cotton had been bought up from the merchants who made the run between Arrun and the market town of Lundlum.

Then there would be the reception. Over five hundred guests were expected for the occasion, nearly one hundred of them being Tristanian allies, and the Garden's of the Governor's mansion had been opened for the event. Catering employed dozens of chefs, bakers, and confectioneries, the full weight of Arrun's culinary talent. Merchants had found themselves exhausting their stocks of cake-flour and sugar just to feed spike in demand and carts of wine had been purchased from the vineyards of Northern Tristain.

The cooking and baking had started days ago and would continue through the ceremony and into the reception.

And finally, there were the guests themselves. Friends and close allies from among the Fae and the Nobility. The Papers were quick to point out that the reception would be comparatively small next to the previous Royal Gala, but rumors of the guest list had promised a string of prominent figures, each almost a household name in their own right.

First and foremost Her Majesty Queen Henrietta and Prince Wales Tudor, but also the Vallieres and Gudendorfs, the Duchess of Windsor, the Gramonts, the Count of Woestte, the Faerie Lords and Representatives, the Knights of the Order of Yggdrasil, and a dizzying list of lesser Nobles and minor officiants.

Some people had decided to turn out outside the Governor's mansion just in hope of the chance to snag a glimpse of the Kingdom's celebrities. Some had just wanted to see a Fairy Tale coming to life. Either way, the City Watch had instated a ground and aerial cordon for the day and in a further show of Solidarity, detachments of her Majesty's Royal Griffin Knights had been stationed to bolster the guard.

But of course that was the nature of these sorts of things, thought the Duchess de La Valliere, heels clicking sharply across the floor of the Great Hall of the Kurotaka as the madness of final preparations surrounded her.

A slight Spriggan girl in her flowing ceremonial robes, Kimono they called it, holding the back of her sash in place with her hands, wondered past in the chaos. "Ah! Can someone . . . hey someone . . . can someone help me with my obi?!"

"Damn it, the last time I wore one of these things was years ago!" Another of the Spriggans grumbled as he fiddled with his sleeves, the girl beside him dressed comfortably in more conventional attire grinned toothily.

"Heh. Looking good Shime!"

"How about instead of a pat on the back you help with this?!"

"Okay, okay, just hold still. It's like . . . hrm . . . you know, I've never fixed one from the outside . . ."

Kurotaka, Spriggans, Black _Crows, _Karin reminded herself to take a breath, reminded herself that she was like steel. Truly they were like rogues to the last with the only ones the Duchess had found the slightest bit reputable being Mister Drake and, perhaps being generous, Sir Kirito. So much like their Lord it was almost infuriating. But were they like her, or was she like _them?_ Which had come first between the Brigand Fae and their Brigand Lord? It mattered all the more today of all days.

This day, where so much was at stake.

A wedding, a wedding of Nobility especially, was a political affair first and always, and so the inconvenience was to be endured and planned around. The mixing of blood, more than ink, and pragmatically _far_ more than honor, was the surest seal of alliance and inheritance, as sure as Royal Blood conferred Sovereignty and mage blood granted Nobility.

Karin's own betrothal had been no different, despite what Anne might have thought, their marriage had been as calculated and targeted as any other. Her aim had simply been_better_ than most.

Faeries of course had their own ideas, as she had learned in her talks with Lady Sakuya.

Karin deftly sidestepped as a group of Kurotaka men hustled past, making adjustments to their dark blouses and trousers. Most of them would not be attending the ceremony proper which was to be a private affair of the bride and groom and some twenty close friends and allies.

Sakuya . . . Now there was a Faerie who managed to keep her eccentricity in check. That was, for the most part. The Duchess frowned, perhaps that was problem. Like a much loved and well remembered piece of music suddenly going off key or a sudden misstep in a well performed waltz. More than once Karin had almost been able to believe they were of like mind on some topic or another, only for that consensus to vanish the next moment. She'd had ample chance to observe the phenomena while staying as a Guest of the Faerie Lords at the Governor's mansion.

Not to say the Sylph's ideas were all inconceivable, frequently even profoundly well informed, but just as often quaint or fanciful. In spite of that, they had enjoyed a fruitful conversation over brandy after dinner the night before. If it had simply been ideas, then they might be thought no more than a novelty. Matters changed when it was remembered that the Fae had the Young Queen's ear.

Ideas, Faerie ideas, Karin could see the temptation, banishing thoughts of steel that glowed, flowing like water from Goubniu's great crucibles. Henrietta for all her lack of experience had the mind to be Queen. She was eager to better Tristain's fortunes, and the Faeries had furnished her with the way, ideas and schemes and plans that had already begun to bare fruit.

But Karin would have been remiss not to see the dangers as well. Both the danger of relying too much on the Fae, and of being seen to do so by others. A monarch need also keep a level hand. Alliance was good, but even a sovereign could over step their bounds and be accused of favoritism. And of course, their was the danger of the ideas themselves.

Marrying for love first and only, without regard, sometimes in spite of regard for one's family and status. The idea was baffling. Even commonershad regard for such things. Though Sakuya had admitted that it had not always been that way nor that it was not still so frequently.

And if that were true, then perhaps it was best that she not think too hard on the matter of Morgiana's betrothal or the circumstance by which she had come to be there. The Spriggan Lord had chosen a proper suitor, a man who among the Fae was both admired and respected, his reputation shared with his brother would be sure to become a mark of good heritage. She could hardly of done better, and could easily have done _far_ worse.

Having extended the hand of alliance to the Fae, the Valliere's could only take this as a good sign whether it was a sign of good sense or simply good _luck_.

Whatever had brought the two together, were it true love or circumstance, the political wheels had been set turning as soon as it had been announced. Surely Morgiana could understand then why this was such a crucial occasion. An opportunity for diplomacy which simply must be entertained. Karin hoped, she truly hoped. If that were the case it would be truly _wonderful_.

There was only one question then, and that was the whereabouts of the bride.

In the days before a wedding there was much for a bride to do and the Duchess had not thought much of her absence. At least until it had come time to meet with her and the Spriggan had not produced herself. It had become quickly apparent that few if any of the Fae had seen their absent Lord since her return from Muisca. When she had gone _looking_and found that Morgiana was never where she was said to be, the Duchess had begun to grow alarmed.

Karin quickened her pace as she neared the heart of the storm of activity filling the Hall. The Arrun Headquarters of the Kurotaka was simply packed as it struggled to contain the entirety of the Guild Kurotaka.

It was not impossible that a carefree woman like Morgiana might falter at the last moment, despite what her fellow Faeries might think. The chances handily doubled without a strong family matriarch or patriarch to stay the course.

The thought had sent the Duchess into immediate dread, only refusing to think the worst because neither Sakuya nor Mortimer had appeared the least concerned. Everything was said to be well in hand. Everything was to be ready. Even the Queen had simply mused that it was a 'Brides Privilege' to seclude herself and paid it no more mind.

Karin would not trust it until she saw it with her own eyes. The Valliere family had invested too much for it to be any other way. And besides there had been too many failures recently, too many errors of judgment, her own most of all . . . She was getting dull it seemed, the years had at last begun to steal her edge. If not for that then . . .

Karin shook her head and with a supreme force of will banished the thoughts to the back of her mind. It would do her no good at that very moment, and more harm besides.

Today, she was certain she would witness the marriage of Lady Morgiana of the Spriggans and General Sir Eugene Tarou Fujioka of the Salamanders. She would _make_ certain of it if need. But first, to find that silly Crow of a girl and be sure there would be no second thoughts at the last moment.

A daunting task at the best of times, and now proving positively monumental. She would ask one passing Spriggan where she might find the bride and told she was one place only to ask another and be told she was elsewhere.

'Steel . . . like _steel_.' Karin's breathing deepened steadily. Patience was a virtue she'd learned by hard won experience and tested over a long life. But this was a far more insidious sort of challenge. Not one incident, but one after another, each a small offense on its own but leaving no chance to recover. The casual irreverence, the childishness. It wore thin.

And as it did, Karin had felt her resolve redouble. The Duchess did not know if the Kurotaka were truly as disorganized as they appeared or being deliberately obtuse to aid their Lord's little game of evasion. Either could be true. For all of their countless flaws Loyalty at least seemed to be their chief virtue and if Morgiana did not want to be found, they were sure to aid her.

But a bride was not something that could be easily hidden and sooner or later she would have to reveal herself. In the end, it had occurred to Karin that she should have just done as she would have done when she was young. Do not question, and do not ask, simply follow until she found herself someplace of interest.

Which now led her to the second floor Eastern Wing of the Great Hall, filled with the clamor of preparation. Everywhere she turned, young women placing the last touches on their dresses and gowns, or in more than one occasion, dawning trousers and blouse like the men. The color was still predominantly black among them, but in their personal garb the Spriggans felt less need to identify with their faction, the dark shades were joined by complimentary whites, deep reds, and dark blues, or dress that departed entirely to favor bright festivity.

If this dizzying display was to be expected of the mute colored Spriggans, Karin's mind staggered to imagine what to expect of the more vivid Salamanders.

Too busy to pause for an outsider, Karin found more snatches of conversation reaching her ears.

"Hey, Name-chan, a party dess, you're not going with a suit and tie?"

"Ah, just because I look boyish doesn't mean it was my only preference. In fact . . . I'm thinking I should grow my hair out . . . "

"Go for it Name-chan. It'd look good on you!"

"Hey have the flowers been delivered yet?"

"Someone find me Shirishi!"

"Damn, days just started and I'm already tired. Tired and hungry."

"Ah. I heard Benten's helping with the cooking."

"So?"

"So?! Her hot pot's are amazing."

The crowd thickened as she neared a pair of double doors propped open by the constant stream of arrivals and departures and like driftwood nearing a rapid she was swept up in the current of bodies, worming and pushing her way through.

"Excuse me . . . I'm . . . Pardon . . . That is quite enough of . . . " Karin was pushed towards the wall, unable to find any gap to slip in until . . . "Grrrr!"

And then Karin didn't hear anything as she ran into the backs of the two girls ahead of her. "Pardon me, I . . ." Karin began, dusting herself off, and then faltered as she realized the stillness that had taken hold all around her.

For the first time that morning the crows had come to a halt and fallen silent, every face wearing the same look of anticipation. Karin stood among them, unnoticed and bemused by the change until her eyes fell on the terminal point of their collective gaze.

If there was a Spriggan to put on the slightest hint of Noble Airs it was Miss Shirishi, a woman so unlike her fellows that it had forced Karin to ponder on her upbringing. Her tendency to accompany her Lord was by now well known, as was her taste s for fine clothing. Today, her dress consisted of a Faerie Kimono, a soft white affair tied by a modest sash that was, Karin thought, quite tastefully understated, as was fitting of a retainer.

Folding her hands before herself, Shirishi offered the smallest of bows. "Ladies and Gents." She gestured to the doorway.

There was a pause. There was an intake of breath. And then again there was silence as a solitary figure stepped forward to present herself, arms falling and head rising as layers of fabric unfolded like a flower in full bloom. She was a Spriggan, and she was _beautiful_.

Karin found herself forgetting her quest for a moment.

Pale as moonslight in a pearly white robe that fanned out about her in its own radiant display. The silken fabric caught the light and seemed almost to glow and glimmer with countless golden threads, the patterns of birds in flight embroidered with care by who knew how many hands. Her ash Spriggan complexion had been softened to a milk white and her raven's hair combed into a river of gloss black drawn back about her head, complimented by a floral hair piece.

Features serene, not delicate, but refined in a way that was decidedly aristocratic. A heart shaped face, thin lips painted ruby, and slim dark eyebrows, lashes long and carefully lined.

There was a curve to her lips as she stepped forward, slippers barely making a noise at all, hands clasped before her and gray eyes cast down to the floor. And then a shy smile as she looked up and met their eyes.

"Well guys," She asked softly, and Karin felt her stomach plummeting as her senses returned to her, "How does it look?"

'Morgiana?!' A silent shout echoed within the privacy of the Duchess' own skull. 'She can look like _that?_!'

Karin reeled as she attempted to reconcile the image before her with her every recollection of the Spriggan Lord. But there was no reconciliation that could be made. Not with that soft demeanor and the refined gestures that accompanied it as she was closed in on from all sides by the women of her guild.

"You look beautiful Big Sis." An antenna haired Spriggan complimented as she went so far as to take her Lord's hand and squeeze.

"Thanks to you guys." The Spriggan Lord agreed as she offered a kind laugh. "Though I really just want to get going. This thing is _way_ too hot for this weather. I feel like I'm wrapped up to be embalmed or something."

"It'll be alright, Darling." Shirishi put both hands on Morgiana's right shoulder. "The bride to be has to look her best. But Marina is right, you're simply radiant. You're going to get talked about after this. No more hiding those looks with that messy braid and some dumpy clothes."

Morgiana's brow furrowed as she held her smile. "Are you trying to give me something else to worry about? Sorry, but I've got more than enough wrinkles in the making."

"Perish the thought." Shirishi's bell laughter died down. "Now then, shall we be going? The procession is scheduled to start and the Brother of the Groom might just decides to send an army to fetch you."

Morgiana looked about, pulling her arms close, she took a deep breath. "Yeah. I'm ready." She stopped as her eyes fell on the still frozen Duchess and tilted her head. "Oh. Hey Karin. What's up?"

The Duchess de La Valliere could have offered any number of replies. She could have chastised the younger woman's tardiness, or for her silence the past days. Instead she settled on a simple shake of the head. "It is . . . Nothing of much importance." She said diplomatically. Yes, _very_, diplomatically. Just what had come over her?

"Oh." The Spriggan tilted her head. "Okay then . . . uhm . . ."

'Uhm?'

There were many things Karin would expect to pass Morgiana's lips, but 'Uhm' was not one of them. Hesitation was simply not in the woman's vernacular, usually. And yet . . . and _yet_. . . There was a time to when Karin too had worn that expression and spoken in as if she was unsure if she should be happy.

Shirishi leaned close to whisper in Morgiana's ear. The young bride looked distracted and then composed herself once more. "Yeah, you're right." Karin, whatever it is, we can talk about it after the reception. It's just, today's a big day, big enough as it is." Her left hand fell unconsciously to rest on her belly, palm flat and protecting. "So if it can wait . . . Can it wait?"

"Of course." Karin answered. But still something nagged at her.

'Her hand.'

"Feeling alright, Darling?" Shirishi sounded sincerely concerned. "You're not sick again, are you?"

'Sick.'

"N-No. Nothing like that." Morgiana shook her head quickly. "It's been fine for weeks."

'Weeks.'

'Protecting her stomach. Sick for weeks. Wedding . . .'

"Come on, let's go." Morgiana said, passing Karin.

It wasn't that. Was it? Karin wondered. It couldn't be that! Because . . . Because that would be . . . _that_! And that would mean this . . . this was _this_. The revelation dawned with a dreadful certainty.

Yet it was so easy to imagine she now wondered why she hadn't thought of it before. It was the sort of woman that Morgiana was, after all, put by circumstances in the place of a Duchess. And like that, all of the pieces fell into place. Her quietness and uncertainty, her evasion from the public eye. The wedding of a foolish girl, who despite Karin's expectations, was doing the right thing.

"Morgiana." The Duchess only realized she had spoken out loud as the Spriggan turned again.

"Hmm?" Morgiana cast a glance over her shoulder, the delicate curve of her neck exaggerated by her hair and robe. "Is there something else?"

Karin wondered if there really was. "I just wanted to extend . . . My sincere congratulations. Your husband to be is a fine young man. You're very fortunate." And most surprising of all to Karin, she found she meant it.

* * *

><p>"You know little brother, the last time I saw you fidgeting like that, I believe you were approximately five." The voice of his older brother was cool and reserved as always, and maybe just a little amused.<p>

"Oh?" Standing side by side with his brother upon the steps of Arrun's grand plaza, Fujioka Tarou, General Eugene of the Salamanders, frowned as he returned to adjusting his kimono and ignoring the onlookers who had turned out to catch a glimpse of the procession and its participants.

The tailors had done an excellent job, the traditional layered garment fitted perfectly, a testament to their skills, but things needed to be perfect today, _just_ perfect. His brother and Sakuya had concerned themselves with presentation to the invited Nobility, Tarou's concerns were for another person entirely.

It was what he owed to Momoko for everything she was being put through, for going so flagrantly against her own desires, this didn't need to be made any more difficult with petty flaws, and it _should_ be remembered as a special time, he prayed, if only in hindsight. Though it felt paltry, nonetheless, he'd resolved to live for her happiness and allow fate to proceed as it may.

"Hmm." Closing his eyes, Katsuo almost smiled. "I remember it well, when we visited Grandmother and Grandfather and Aunt and Uncle for new years."

"Was it?" Tarou could hardly remember now. His brother was nearly ten years his senior, so of course he would recall better now.

"Oh yes." Katsuo agreed, the nostalgia obviously getting to his brother as he clasped his arms within the sleeves of his own ceremonial kimono. Between his composure and his imperious features looking like some long ago court official. "I seem to recall that you were so very serious when our little cousins wanted you to play their groom."

So it was like that? Tarou scowled as he recalled. That much he did remember, and with it, he almost took offense. As if his brother was claiming this was somehow less real for all of what it was. "But this time we're not playing, brother." Not like all those years ago. "Please don't treat it that way." Although he could not say that he loved Morgiana, or that this was right, he wanted to try to walk that path honestly.

"No." Katsuo agreed quietly. Tarou gave his brother a quick look. Katsuo's almost good mood drained away, the pale young mask he'd made for himself, both like and unlike the man beneath, became ridged once again. "Whatever else, I am not playing at something as important as this." Katsuo looked back, and in that look he made it clear that he was speaking as Fujioka Katsuo rather than Lord Mortimer of the Salamanders. "The wedding of my only brother is an auspicious occasion and I would never dream of having it cheapened." Shaking his head slowly, Katsuou had drawn his long hair back leaving only his bangs to sway. "I remember when you were small, and father said I needed to look after you."

"Brother."

Tarou was left frozen in place. A look around was all that was needed to confirm they were a safe distance from the crowds held at bay by the watch and detachments of the Salamander Lance Units commanded by Lydia.

"Of course, you were taller than me by the time you reached high school." Katsuo recollected. "How fast you grew into a man younger brother."

Tarou chuckled deeply. "And you wouldn't say overgrown?"

Unlike the more vain and self conscious players who had let themselves get carried away on creating perfect bodies, and sunk who knew how many yen in the process, Tarou had been more or less satisfied with his randomly generated avatar, only adjusting those meta features relevant to gameplay. His height and proportions had thus not changed.

Tarou had always been the family athlete, but as a Salamander he'd found himself decidedly more muscular, broadening across the chest and shoulders, his physique less his lanky and fit human self and more a suitably heroic ox of a man. He couldn't exactly say it hadn't drawn a flattering amount of female attention, especially since this flesh had become all too real in the transition. He'd never cared much one way or another, so long as the limb proportions and reach were right, it had served its purpose.

"It hardly matters." Katsuo said. "We've burdened you and Morgiana with this, but despite the circumstances. I am proud of you, and I know our family would be as well. I just wanted you to know that . . . Tarou?" Ah yes, Katsuo had never been the best and in social gatherings.

"It is nothing, brother." The big Salamander didn't even try to hide his grin. "It's simply been a long time since you've been so open. It feels good."

Cold red eyes blinked slowly. "Is that so?" He shrugged, his mask softening further into his almost smile. "Well, I suppose a change of pace is good from time to time." Katsuou tilted his head to look past his younger brother and into the near distance. "And on that note, I do believe that would be your bride."

The words froze him for a heartbeat. The hour had come round at last. The milling crowds has seen to, some lifting off to get a better look from the air, kept at bay by watch officers who nimbly moved to intercept them until the sky formed a loose quarter sphere of bodies hovering over the edge of the plaza.

Looking over his shoulder, a procession of a dozen was approaching from the direction of the Arrun's main boulevard, a light haired Spriggan in dark kimono at its lead beside his slight dark haired companion holding a parasol to offer shade, escorting a tall figure, graceful in flowing bridal attire and hood which from a distance all but hid her from view.

"Anything left to say?" Katsuo asked under his breath.

"Has there ever been?" Tarou asked back.

"Good." His brother's composure returned in full force as he stepped back to join with the other waiting Lords gathered on the steps behind them, each wearing their own elaborate attired to bare witness to the wedding, and leaving him standing in the lead to confront the woman he was about to marry.

For the man who was the strongest of an already strong Faerie Race to lack resolve would have been ridiculous, and it _was_ ridiculous now as Tarou steeled himself, patting down his kimono one last time and straightening his posture. Only when he was satisfied that he was presentable did Tarou dare to let his eyes fall again on the approaching delegation, just as the head beneath the bridal hood lifted.

After shouting across battlefields, and roaring orders while risking life and limb leading his volunteers to quell the dangerous mobs of ALfheim, what Tarou saw left him at last without a voice. Morgiana was always beautiful. Today she was truly sublime. And the woman behind that face, so staggeringly strong and brave, he was about to become her husband.

With uncanny timing the spell was broken as she spoke as if it were any other day and any other place. "So yeah." Mirai Momoko, Morgiana of the Spriggans said as she smiled up at him nervously. "Looking good, Tarou."

"And you as well . . ." Eugene managed through his distraction. There were many ways Eugene could have described Morgiana, but never until now could he have imagined her as_elegant_. Dressed in a many layered wedding Kimono, arms folded, poised almost serene . . .

"Hey, hey, Gene-kun?" A hand waved before his eyes, the Spriggan woman looking mildly worried, and the Salamander returned to the present. Morgiana partly spread her arms to display the intricate gold embroidery and elaborate obi. "I guess . . . I should be flattered that you like it. Still feels a little ridiculous." She looked over her shoulder at the rest of her small procession, her closest friends and Guild Mates, and one more.

"Duchess Valliere." Eugene bowed. "You were expected with the rest of the delegation."

The Duchess nodded to him. "It was a matter of no great concern, pay it no mind. I was simply acquiring upon the status of the bride."

And with that said, the gathered Lords had begun to descend the steps to join them, Sakuya and Alicia in the lead. Morgiana turned to present herself and with demure grace offered a small bow.

"You look beautiful Morgiana." Sakuya said, carrying herself with Noble poise the two women came face to face.

"Thank you, Sakuya-san." Morgiana answered softly, the bygone image of a young wife. A look passed between the two as if both were asking if the other was for real. The two were still not on the best of terms after Sakuya and his brother had pressured for this wedding. Or as Morgiana would say, delivered their 'ultimatum'. At least Morgiana managed to crack a grin.

"Girl cleans up nicely." Alicia agreed with her normal excess of mischief, the tiny cait looking almost like a child.

Thinker and his Lieutenant Yulier followed, both of them offering their congratulations. Sincerity came naturally to the Undine couple.

"Getting the first official weeding. I kinda feel like I stole your thunder there." Morgiana said sheepishly. "Sorry."

"Not at all. It is a very special occasion." Thinker smiled. "It's fitting that it should be for two very special people."

"Besides, now we don't have any excuses to hold off any longer." Yulier agreed, leaning towards her own fiancee. "We wish you and Eugene all the happiness in the world Morgiana."

Lord Zolf circled to stand beside Tarou, looked Morgiana over, and then nodded as if satisfied. The Imp Lord's ice cold condemnation of Morgiana and Eugene had thawed by some small measure after the marriage had been announced. His mood today was almost lukewarm. "She makes at least as good a bride as a warrior. That's something I suppose."

"Whole lot of something I reckon." Rucks of the Gnomes spoke, his mustache barely twitching as he crossed his arms before himself.

"Of course she would." Lord Rute harrumphed as he waddled down after the rest of the Lords, his stature and dress making it somewhat more difficult. "That's the best silk money can buy." The Leprechaun announced proudly. "My money by the way." He grumbled under his breath. "Consider it my magnanimous contribution!" Naturally, nobody was listening as Rute congratulated himself.

"Really?" Alicia asked innocently. "You mean it wasn't so that Morgi-chan could be your clothes horse to show off ALfheim's silk to the Nobility?" Rute scowled as the escorts began to close in.

Besides lacking a Shrine to call their own, the denizens of ALfheim were also short of experienced Shinto Practitioners and attendants. The shrine maidens that would escort the procession were mostly volunteers from among the Faerie races arranged by, of all things, a miniscule Pixie hovering on the shoulder of an azure haired Sylph. Ridiculous that such a tiny creature would be conducting them, and yet she seemed to know more about the rituals than any of the girls she was directing.

Lady Zia, who had been busying herself with a troop of her Puca clutching traditional wooden instruments, finished speaking with the band and looked up. "If everyone would please take their places please! We're ready to begin!" The procession members began to gather, forming a line behind Eugene and Morgiana, starting with the Lords and Proceeding to friends.

"Well then, Morgiana," Katsuo's only show of anxiety was to take a deep breath, "Ready to become my brother's bride?

"I don't know." Morgiana tilted her head with an evil little smile. "Ready to become my brother in law?"

The two Lords held their battle of stares for entirely too long until Katsuo blinked, turning back to Eugene, his brother drawled. "It occurs to me, brother, it's not too late for you to marry into _her_ family."

"Brother." Eugene chastised at what he hoped was simply a bad joke.

Morgiana took her place beside him, features partly obscured by her bridal hood. She had every right to be nervous or even resentful this day, yet neither shown through right now. 'She is quite strong.' He reminded himself, not for the first time. An amazingly strong person to be here at all, and no matter how it had come to about, he wasn't really sure if he'd done anything to be worthy of her.

She glanced his way, and for a moment he glimpsed her from the corner of his eye and feared he would see doubt. He felt her shoulder bump into him, a gentle, exaggerated sway that would be missed by everyone else. Her lips curved up in a fine smile as she bowed her head. The message was clear, he nodded as the Puca began to play and the procession set out.

They moved in amicable silence, accompanied by the music, Morgiana uncharacteristically quiet, and Eugene himself almost meditative as they advanced together towards the union of their fates. It felt like the whole city had turned out to watch them pass, and perhaps they had, the promenade that led towards the Word Tree and the great gates of the [Grand Quest] were lined with onlookers. People excited at the prospect of a wedding or just curious to see for themselves.

Murmurs went up all around as Morgiana came into sight, and at the sound the Spriggan seemed to become wilted until he answered with a surreptitious bump to the shoulder. If she couldn't stand up to this scrutiny alone, that was fine, she didn't have to.

It was a shocking turn out, and far beyond what Eugene would ever have anticipated, his and Morgiana's celebrity or not. It had _not_ been unexpected by Thinker _or_ his brother however. The City Watch had been called out in its full force today bolstered by watch officers from Gaddan and Muisca. Some of the 'black jackets' happened to be Kurotaka and keeping a close eye, it wasn't hard to catch the covert gestures of encouragement as they controlled the crowds and kept the sky above cleared.

There was a place in Arrun's Northern district, high up among the roots of the World Tree overlooking the rest of the city, where a spring burbled up from beneath Yggdrasil's trunk. The water there was clear and pure and the surroundings peaceful and idyllic. Of all the places to build a temple it had seemed the most right to his brother who had made the arrangements, and their hapless priest had seemingly agreed.

The building had gone up in one week, a Halkegenian week which happened to be eight days, and Katsuo had mused that it was almost certainly a good omen. Well, it couldn't hurt their fortunes, Tarou though as he inspected the small collection of wooden structures centered around the main shrine building. From a distance it was presentable enough, ascending the freshly lain steps as the crowds fell away, and as they grew nearer, the signs of fresh construction grew more evident in wooden frames and freshly lacquered walls.

And this had all been done in _just_ a single week and a day, Eugene gave his brother a silent glance. Katsuo said nothing as they were met by the Tristanian delegation before the Shrine's gate.

This was diplomatic aspect of the marriage, it would legitimize the act in the eyes of the Nobility, the ultimate validation of this day.

Her Majesty had called on the services of her Manticore Knights to escort her for the occasion. Four of the beasts like formidable Komainue, fearsome and legendary even in a world of ancient magic, were in full form before the Shrine's gate, powerful forelimbs bunching beneath tawny fur and nostrils flaring as they panted in the heat.

The Knights saluted as Eugene and Morgiana passed. The dismounted cavalry and musketeers behind them came to attention and they were presented before the Queen.

Her Majesty Queen Henrietta I had dressed formidably for the occasion in a blue and white gown and gossamer veil that floated about her hair and shoulders like a halo and may well have been held their by enchanment. Beside her, Prince Wales Tudor, exiled Prince of Albion stood in military dress, one hand resting softly upon his hip and the other held to his chest.

"Your Majesty." Eugene and Morgiana spoke together, bowing before their adopted Sovereign.

They owed much to this young girl, Tarou thought as Henrietta bid them rise. She had risked herself over and over again to shelter the Fae, in part for her own ambition, but in part out of genuine compassion. She had displayed no less bravery than was asked of them now. Of all the people to who they might have pledged their allegiance, it was sheer luck it had been her, and the greatest honor that she would observe today.

"Lady Morgiana." Henrietta lifted a hand to hide her smile. "I must confess that you look far more lovely than I ever could have imagined."

"Thank you, your Majesty." The Spriggan woman answered simply. "I've gotta admit, I was a little worried you'd think this get up would look silly."

"Not at all." Henrietta assured. "Though," her hand fell and the Queen allowed herself to smile openly, "As beautiful as it is, I do think it suits you only this one time." And then looked to Eugene but still speaking to Morgiana she said. "This man was the first Faerie I met, and also the first to save me, in one way or another, at great risk to his own. I think it is because we had the good fortune to meet as we did that so much good fortune has followed."

"Your Majesty." Eugene whispered.

Nodding firmly, the Queen tuned back to Morgiana and bent forward. "Please cherish each other, Morgiana, he most certainly is worth your while."

"As my cousin has said, and," Prince Wales stepped forward, "For whatever it is worth, we have taken the greatest interest in this development. General, Lady Morgiana, I do not know if God or the Founder hold provenance in your world, but it seems clear to me that you have always been compliments to each other. My cousing and I extend our best wishes and prayers for you."

Behind the two royals, a congregation of the Nobility awaited, each supplying their well wishes. The first were Cardinal Mazarin and Bishop Rubeus, the old Bishop smiling as if they were his own family. "It's not much as such things go, but word was received back by courier this morning, his Eminence wishes to extend his blessing and prayers once again to your people. May this union be the first of many."

The Duke de La Valliere, his wife taking her place at his side, was the very image of stoic dignity. The Dukes greetings were as expected, cordial and warm, but the Duchess of all people seemed almost kind today, daring to do so much as smile and give Morgiana a few small words of encouragement.

And Count Woestte like a thin and vicious little reflection of Lord Rute, looking them over both, satisfied and gave his diplomatic well wishes. Better that Rute handle that one, Eugene thought, the way that he had paused on Morgiana had made his palms itch.

The Archduke of Gudendorf and his wife, both broad built and prosperous people, greeted them jovially and bade them well.

The Marquees de Aiguillion, a very severe and martial young man and an outspoken ally to Henrietta in the House of Peers also complimented both of them on their union and on the beauty of the venue. The motives behind the words were political, but not insincere.

Next, the Count de Chalet, an older gentleman accompanied by a whip of a girl, his eldest daughter Beatrice from his first marriage, a less outspoken but staunch moderate slightly favoring cooperation with the Fae. The Count smiled as he introduced himself and his daughter.

And the Lord de La Tremoille and his own wife, very much younger than himself and just recently wed, Sakuya had said, as part of a political maneuver to consolidate the remainder of Tristain's [Loyal Opposition] to Henrietta's favoritism of the Fae. His inclusion today was as political as de Aiguillion's and far more tepid. More that Woestte, who was merely unscrupulous, Le Termoille left a bad taste in Eugene's mouth, eying Morgiana and seeming to compare her ruthlessly with his own wife.

It was fortunate then that the last to greet them was Baron Gramont and his wife. Well maybe fortunate, if not for the General's sense of poetry. "It is like the moons have set their daughter upon the world." The General received eye rolls from everyone in earshot save Morgiana who was struggling not to break out in belly laughter as she covered her mouth with both hands. "Lady Morgiania, you are _resplendent_ today as we mere mortals are so weighed with fortunate as to witness!"

A large and meaty hand planted itself firmly on Belgen's shoulder. "Really you may pay him no mind." The Baroness smiled as she pulled her husband back. "This really isn't even the worst torment he has beset on young people. Come now, husband," she pulled Belgen back further, "I think you'll need to change your comparison to roses if you regail the bride much longer!"

Baroness Monalice Tricia de Gramont, how to describe her? Eugene thought carefully. Perhaps his brothers description really was the best, though he had not believed it at the time.

In no simple terms, the space and material that would have been utilized in the construction of two women had seemingly been earmarked for only one. With a frame that was a good three or four centimeters taller than her husband, and almost twice as wide, nearly dwarfing the General and speaking of a woman who had started off full figured and simply gotten _fuller_ as the years progressed until fullness had given way to a more vague and all encompassing _lumpiness_.

Dressed all up in black that seemed to squeeze her into a better approximation of female shape. A jovial double chin sat beneath rouge painted lips curved in a wholesome smile and bright red cheeks crinkled beneath green eyes. Her still very naturally blonde hair was a wavy mass of curls and her every motion was a -bounce- that carried from head to toe.

"I speak only the truth my beautiful and fair Monalice!" Belgen said fondly and with only a small side of ham. "A bride is a woman at her most beautiful to all men, only surpassed to one man as a wife!"

"You know he's really not _that_ bad." Morgiana grinned.

Monalice gave a simple shake of her head, sending her chins jiggling. "My dear, you haven't had to live with him. At least yours seems to be the quiet type!" Setting hands on her formidable hips she looked at Eugene. "And quite the strapping young lad as well. I'd say you've done well for yourself."

"I think you might be right." Morgiana's pale features, painted with makeup, only barely diminished her blush as the last of the Nobility stepped aside and the Procession was allowed to move forward at last to the ceremony proper.

In the end, after all of the preparation and care, the countless hours of work, and of politics, when it came time, the ritual itself, around which everything else had been built, seemed like the smallest thing in the world. And also the biggest thing in Tarou's world.

The Priest was waiting when they arrived, a Cait Syth fussing with his ceremonial robes and clearly concerned that he look properly the part of a dignified practitioner, an effort sabotaged by the insistence of tail and ears to peak out from his ceremonial dress. He nonetheless greeted them formally, inviting the procession to enter through the Shrine's gate.

The Priest, the man's name was Touba, presided as they were brought before the temples chozuya to be purified. The water had been drawn from the spring here, and somehow it felt impossibly cold as it washed across Tarou's hands. Beside him, Momoko performed the same ritual purification with a distant look in her eyes.

The other Lords followed, and then their guests until only the observing Nobles were left. After conferring with Cardinal Mazarin and Bishop Rubeus it was decided that the act of purification could be treated as a courtesy to the Fae and the Spirits and did not constitute worship. The Queen and Prince proceeded first, Henrietta permitting the same purification as she had observed with Mrogiana and Eugene, followed respectfully by the rest of the Nobility.

Touba and his volunteer Shrine Maidens, the blue haired Sylph and a black haired Puca, escorted them into the Shrine proper to stand facing the looming wall of the World Tree, itself acting as a sort of Spiritual center, even if encompassing the entire trunk with a Shimenawa was an undertaking even beyond the resources of the Faeire Lords.

Touba directed them to bow. The bride and groom were asked to step forward.

The young priest solemnly unrolled the parchment on which the marriage pronouncement and vows had been carefully transcribed, read them one last time to be sure, and then commenced.

Lifting the parchment before him, Touba spoke out clearly, his voice barely trembling as he respectfully announced the marriage of the bride and groom to the Gods and requested their blessing to bare witness. The words echoed across the still temple grounds, swallowed up by the air and the unimaginable bulk of the World Tree itself.

When the formula was read, the Priest turned to the gathered procession and bid them to bow again, Faeries and Nobles following suit.

Tarou didn't know where his brother, or more likely Alicia, had managed to find something approaching Sake, but they'd succeeded as well as could be hoped for the sake of the san-san-kudo ritual. Raising the three cups each three times, Tarou watched as Momoko carefully pressed the sakazuki to her lips, just enough to taste the drink and only taking a small sip from the last cup before they were returned to the altar.

The vows came next, taking the parchment offered by Touba, Tarous hadn't expected he'd need it having practiced in advance. But now that the moment was on him he refused to allow any mistake. And so he read each line with care before taking a deep breath. The vows were simple, and at first they came easily.

"We make this marriage vow respectfully before the deities." Tarou's voice carried without effort.

"We Fujioka Tarou and Mirai Momoko express our delight to be able to make our vows on this great day, and to become husband and wife through the blessing of the deities . . ." Husband and wife. The words gave him pause, just for a moment before he started again.

"We swear to the deities to love and respect each other forever, and to strive to bring our family prosperity."

Their family, their family which was both small and vast in this world, Eugene thought, small for he had only his brother and Momoko had only herself, and vast for he had the men who had become like his brothers, and Morgiana for she had her Kurotaka, her brave and noble crows. And Morgiana knew it to, smiling as she listened, facing the altar, for no one but him just as he did for her.

"Moreover, we swear never to veer from the true path of matrimony," Eugene didn't need the scroll anymore, the rest returned to him easily, "And to work to share the divine grace of the deities."

Setting the parchment back onto the altar, the Shrine maidens advanced again to offer both he and Morgiana the small twigs selected carefully from the tress of ALfheim for symbolic purpose as to stand in for the Sakaki branches. Each was placed upon the altar and together they completed the ritual, bowing and clapping twice each.

And as simply as it had begun, it was over. Not like a western style ritual, there was no expectation that the ceremony by sealed with a kiss. Instead, as cups of 'sake' were poured for the Guests, Tarou extracted the ring he had kept safe until now, a simple silver band, the smallest thing in the world, the biggest thing in the world.

Taking Momoko's hand, he slipped the band upon her finger and looked into her deep gray eyes. Gray like the sky before first snow.

The Baron had been right. There was only one woman in the world more beautiful than a bride.


	39. Chapter 9 Part 4 : New Traditions

Author's Note : Hey everyone, sorry for the slow update pace recently. Rest assured that chapters are still being churned out at a high speed, I've just been taking a break from my postings to replenish my lead in chapters. (Also, I did a bad thing and wrote another side story). The Chapter after this is very OC-centric unfortunately, but that's chiefly to get a couple of ZnT cast characters into the spotlight, one being Sheffield, and the other . . . well, you get three guesses. Cheers!

* * *

><p>Halkegenia Online v3 – Chapter 9 – Part 4<p>

Kirigaya Kazuto, the Black Swordsman Kirito, Beater of Aincad, and now a Faerie Knight in the service of Her Majesty Queen Henrietta of Tristain had faced many fierce and fantastic creatures in his journeys across the deadly virtual world of SAO and the no less dangerous real world of Halkegenia.

Insects with stingers the size of kitchen knives, poisonous mutant frogs, fire breathing dragons, and giant Cerberus. He had defeated all of them and _eaten_ most of them.

There had simply been times as a wondering swordsman that he had craved a bit of meat, even something as plain as some grilled chicken or pork. Good food fed the soul. And it had all just been _sitting_ there in his inventory anyway, he might as well cook it, or have it cooked, at first by Aincrad's NPC chefs, and then eventually, blissfully, by his own wife.

The NPC cooks had always been a safe bet, if a little bland, but Asuna had never ceased to amaze with dishes as varied as the creatures that had provided their ingredients. And then again as ALfheim had been made real and Asuna had found new culinary worlds to explore in her spare time, the variety had only grown.

None of it had prepared Kirito for the reception dinner.

"The Faerie Lords really know how to pull out all the stops." The Spriggan thought aloud as he eyed the appealing dish that had just been set in front of him. It looked like some sort of small lobster, shelled and artfully reassembled with a pair of club like appendages in place of its claws, boiled to a cherry red, and presented in a dish of creamy bisque garnished with lemon and herbs and a stack of golden toast. "And it smells as good as Asuna's cooking." But Asuna definitely didn't have anything to do with this dish.

"Hmmm? What was that Kirito-kun?" His wife's slender ears twitched oh so slightly as she looked at him from across the table, seated between Caramella and Yui.

Attending the reception had meant changing out of the formal wedding attire they'd worn that afternoon as observers in the procession. Kirito had exchanged a darkly colored Kimono for an equally dark blue dress shirt and black slacks, Klein doing the same with a Maroon shirt in addition to being cleanly shaven for the first time in history, and Asuna who had switched from a floral Kimono to a simple white evening dress accompanied by a few modest pieces of jewelry, a necklace and ear clips.

"I was just thinking," Kirito tread carefully, "I don't think I've ever seen one of these before." He picked up a knife and prodded at the tender meat. Is this native to Tristain?"

"Either that or a really freaky Mob." Caramella said, just as much at a loss.

"Old Man Nishida would know." Klein suggested, stroking his clean chin.

"I'm . . . Not sure." Asuna admitted with a small look of embarrassment. "Sorry."

"One moment Papa." Sitting between them, their daughter Yui fell still as she took the question as a request, the little Maeve girl's eyes flickering as she searched through her memory and then suddenly burst back to life. "Papa, it's called a Sea Mantis, they're native to Halkegenia." Yui offered helpfully, sounding pleased with herself. "It's not a Mob. Actually, it's a Tristanian delicacy."

"Sea Mantis, huh?" Kirito took a careful bite and savored the almost too sweet flavor that burst inside of his mouth.

"Papa!" Yui chastised. "That's not the right way to eat it! You're supposed to dip it in the bisque first." His daughter demonstrated clumsily on her own plate. "And then you put it on the toast and eat it like this!" Yui took a bite of the lobster on toast. "And sometimes you can put cream cheese on the toast and eat it with that."

"Oh?" Kirito smiled, resting his head against his knuckles as his daughter explained. Dressed in her very best clothes, like a little Faerie Princess, Yui had been so excited to come with them tonight.

"Yeah. But you never put cream cheese or butter directly on the meat." Yui continued in a whisper. "That's bad etiquette."

Was it now? The toast and cream completely changed the flavor, but Yui was right, it was good.

Kirito came to a decision, he was going to have to ask Asuna to learn how to make it. Then again, if he kept deciding that, he'd probably be asking for too much by the end of the night

This was their first state wedding, and more importantly, the very first wedding of a Faerie Lord, so there had been pressure to meet expectations of the invited Nobility. The wedding itself had only been a small part of that, however important, and tiny compared to the reception that followed.

The gardens of the Governor's Mansion had been completely turned over for the occasion with nearly a hundred tables set for over five hundred guests, including the Faerie Lords, City Officials, and friends. The entirety of the Yggdrasil Knights were in attendance on behalf of Eugene as well as the Guild Kurotaka dominating the tables nearest to the seat of their newly wedded Lord. Morgiana presided over her Guild like an honored matriarch.

Over a hundred members of the Tristanian Nobility had also been invited, allies and trading partners, as a diplomatic gesture to both observe and participate in the celebration and probably also to talk business with the Lords.

Entertainers had been hired from Cadenza, musicians and performers eager to demonstrate traditional drama. The Mansion's ballroom had been opened, the soft notes of the bands preparing wafting out into the evening air under the glow of strings of ore-lights.

And of course the food, delivered by an endless stream of waiters.

This was just the third course of _nine, _all of them so far delicious, featuring everything from exotic ALfheim cuisine like roasted cavern dragon, slain by the groom himself, to native Tristanian foods like the Sea Mantis Kirito was enjoying now, and a few tantalizingly nostalgic dishes, their tastes and smells heart achingly familiar, and a reminder that Asuna wasn't the only one trying to recreate a few precious pieces of home.

So much good food, even with the small portions, they could have eaten themselves sick if they weren't careful. Which reminded him.

"Yui." Kirito called for his daughter's attention.

The little girl looked up from a half taken bite. "Remember," Kirito advised very seriously, "Always save enough room for desert." There was supposedly a gigantic wedding cake being prepared for the newly married couple that was going to be served later and Kirito had only heard good things about the bakers.

Yui absorbed this truth and then nodded eagerly. "Un!"

"Oy, no wonder Yui-chan is such a quick learner." Klein chuckled. "All the lessons are fun."

Asuna simply sighed, her eyes moving between them. "Is that really the lesson you want to teach Yui-chan, Kirito-kun?"

Kirito shrugged as he took another bite. "If it's a celebration you should enjoy the moment, right? That's an important lesson."

"Come on Mama, it's really tasty!" Yui urged as she held up a piece for her mother.

The simple delight of a shared experience, Kirito thought as he watched Asuna take the small offered bite, how wonderful it must have been for Yui to experience it, even now.

The seafood dish disappeared fast and the waiters came to clear the plates, replacing each with a small scoop of icy lemon sorbet served in lemon skin followed by the next course, a small pot pie of mixed ALfheim game fowl.

"Hey Klein, this is Tarbes Wine, right?" Caramella tapped the side of her glass and the ruby red liquid within.

While Kirito and Asuna had only taken a few sips of wine during the ceremonial toasts, both the Nymph and the Salamander were old enough to drink socially and had been doing so quite happily this evening. The drink menu was almost as impressive as the food and Kirito had heard the two passing around names and vintages like it was a field of academic study.

"I think so." Klein agreed as he tasted again from his own glass.

"It's nice." Caramella said thoughtfully. "A little sweet."

"Sweet? I'd never have thought you were a lightweight Caramel-chan, you were pretty hard drinking back in the day." Klein chuckled as he clearly recalled some event during their time in Aincrad.

"Ca-ra-mel-la. Yeah?" Caramella rolled her eyes. "I was a real hard drinker when, you know, there wasn't any alcohol involved. I wasn't old enough to drink when SAO started," the Nymph shrugged her uniformed shoulders, "I just guess I got a taste for it hanging around with the army. Kind of weird now that I think about it. It's just . . . " She was sounding thoughtful as she looked into the deep red that filled her glass. Then shaking her head, a smile returned. "But what do I know? Today's a celebration, right?"

"That it is Dame Foster." A rumbling voice like approaching thunder very nearly caused the Nymph to shoot up straight in her seat. Caramella got her wits about her fast enough to rise with the other three Yggdrasil Knights and face the arrival of their commander.

"General Eugene," Asuna greeted warmly, "And Lady Morgiana."

Morgiana had undergone another transformation between the Wedding Ceremony and the reception, no less stunning, shedding her ornate bridal costume for a far more restrained dark colored kimono decorated with floral patterns in vivid red and orange, and allowing her hair down in a silk black river that fell to her waist.

She was strikingly feminine counterpoint to General Eugene in his dress uniform, a man so tall and broad that he could make even an amazon like Morgiana look almost girlishly dainty.

The Spriggan Lord smiled fondly as she leaned against her new husband, resting her head lightly against his shoulder, one arm wrapped around his bicep and the other clasping his hand. Eugene looked maybe a little darker now, Kirito thought, in the face especially.

"At ease Lieutenant Kirigaya." Eugene raised a hand, expression almost amused.

"Congratulations." Kirito added. "But I guess you've heard that too many times today."

"Though it's never been known to hurt either." The Spriggan Lord smiled. "Hope you guys are enjoying yourselves." Morgiana said, voice tired but also filled with an unmistakable happiness. "Me and this big guy here are making the rounds and we thought we should check in and thank you for well . . . " Morgiana's cheeks warmed as she shifted from side to side bashfully " . . . you know, the dinner a few weeks ago. And everything else. So yeah, thanks guys."

"It's just as Mo-Morgiana says." Eugene squeezed his wife's hand back. "Kirito-san, Asuna-san, you have our gratitude."

Kirito traded looks with Asuna. All they had done was speak honestly, but maybe that was all Morgiana and Eugene had needed to hear.

Asuna answered for them. "It's never a problem, Morgiana-san. We're just happy we could be of help."

"And I see you've brought Yui-chan along." Morgiana detached herself from her husband and leaned down to smile at their little girl. "I hope this is lots of fun for you too Yui-chan."

"Un. It's been really interesting." Yui nodded and then she began to fidget as she smiled nervously. "You you look really pretty tonight Morgiana-san."

"You think so?" Morgiana laughed, and even so, it was like that little bit of honest praise counted for so much more as she reached out and lightly tussled Yui's hair. "Right back at you kid. I wish I'd had a dress that pretty when I was little."

"To answer your question, we're enjoying ourselves very much." Asuna said, lacing her hands against her stomach. "The food is just wonderful."

"Well I'll be sure to let Drake know how you feel." Morgiana promised with a mischievous smile.

Asuna appeared mystified. "Drake-san?"

"Didn't you hear?" Morgiana chuckled. "Drake is the one who handled the catering. Did you know he mastered cooking in ALO?"

Drake had mastered cooking?

Among the players of both ALO and SOA Kirito knew of only one other who could boast that accomplishment. The black swordsman felt his eyes glazing as he tried to imagine the gruff Lieutenant of the Spriggan Lord dressed in an apron, fussing over ingredients, the image promptly growing more graphic as it mingled with his memories of Asuna. His mind simply rebelled.

"Yeah." Morgiana went on without noticing. "Apparently he was using Full Dive to diet and one thing led to another. It's been a big help during all of this." She waved vaguely to their surroundings. Eugene chose that moment to tug gently at his wife's hand, reminding her of the time. "Right, well then, we've got to go do introductions with the Nobility." Morgiana stuck her tongue out. "Man, I thought I was going to avoid having to deal with those guys."

"Then we won't keep you." Kirito stepped back. "We'll catch you later."

"I hope it isn't too difficult." Asuna gave Morgiana a sympathetic look. "It does seem like Sakuya and the other Lords have placed a lot on your shoulders."

There was a moment of silence as Morgiana's face went disturbingly blank and then reanimated itself. Despite being a giant of a man to easily dwarf his wife, Eugene cringed at the look on his her face. "Sakuya-chan?" Morgiana asked mysteriously. "I wouldn't worry too much about Sakuya-chan. I'm still kinda pissed with her and Mort about how they handled this, but somebody had to say it so I guess it's better it was them." The Spriggan woman rubbed the side of her neck. "I think we'll look back on today and laugh, huh Gene-kun?"

There was a grumble from Eugene that put Kirito on alert, a little too low, a little too nervous. But he guessed it counted as a yes. As they were leaving, Kirito caught a last snatch of conversation. "The Baron isn't so bad, you know."

"I know that Gene-kun, but I'm also pretty sure he has me eyeballed down to the last centimeter. So wait, I need to introduce myself to the Count de . . . Rene?"

"de Renice and then la Rotherfort, they're cousins."

"Ah, gottcha."

And then what they were saying was lost as the couple waded their way out into the crowd of tables, stopping at each to introduce themselves and converse briefly with the guests. They were going to have their work cut out for them. Not much time to sit down and enjoy the food. Hopefully Drake would think to have servings set aside for later, when the two could have a little peace together.

The courses had kept coming, one after another in groups of three, spaced by more small sweets until the dinner proper was concluded and the guests began to rise for the night's activities.

In some ways, Kirito realized, this was a lot like the interrupted Royal Gala, or in other words, it was a place for the Fae and Humans to mingle with the marriage as a way to break the ice. If that was what Sakuya had been thinking, then she'd definitely been frighteningly efficient.

Walking off his heavy stomach, arm in arm with Asuna, they witnessed clusters of conversation, clumps of Faeries and Humans gathering together. Some of them were discussing business, others were commenting on the music played by the Puca band in the Gardens, and still others had been going on about the food they'd all enjoyed.

Through it all, Morgiana and Eugene moved side by side, perfect hosts as they visited with their guests. The Spriggan especially falling into the role of the serene wife. It was a change even more radical than Morgiana's dress. Was this truly some other part of Morgiana, or was it an act she'd put on for the night?

They were actually pretty ordinary people, Kirito mused. Of course, he didn't know what else he'd been expecting.

The heart of the reception gradually made its way up onto the Mansion patio and inside the ballroom where a second band had started to play. The first few couples had advanced out onto the floor, Faeries with Faeries Partners and Humans with Humans at first to commence a stately waltz for the onlookers to admire.

"Look at how beautiful they are." Asuna eyes glimmered with reflected light. "Kirito-kun, would you like to try?"

Try dancing? "Well . . ."

"Come on, this is a chance to put those lessons to good use, Kirito-kun."

Pushing him from behind, his daughter chimed in with her mother. "Go have fun Papa!"

Asuna pulled him along without protest, smiling as she took his hands and coaxed him into the lead. It had been Asuna who had taught him how to dance in the first place. She'd learned while attending a very intensive girl's school and then passed the lessons on to him while they had been preparing for the Royal Gala. In a way it was like swordsmanship, all about footwork and training his body to act without thinking.

And it _was_ without thinking that he and Asuna stepped out onto the floor, spinning as they orbited a common center, like the stars of a galaxy. Around and around, spinning and spinning, Kirito wondered why he didn't feel dizzy at first. Maybe because for the entire time, Asuna was right in front of him, perfectly still as the world spun around. Around and around until Kirito was actually a little surprised when the music stopped and he realized he'd been left feeling breathless.

They stayed on the floor as more people joined for the next dance, partners switching so that now some of the Faeries were paired with Humans. A Baron taking the hand of a Sylph woman and a Count politely asking the pleasure of a Salamander's company. But not everyone was so eagerly enjoying themselves.

Kirito spotted a familiar face nimbly threading her way through the crowds, Emily Florence Windsor, the Exiled Countess of Windsor, pursued by a gaggle of younger Noblemen.

Asuna grimaced without saying a word. It wouldn't be the first time that the Nobility had closed in on Emily, and it wasn't just boys in admiration of her looks. A lot of the Tristanian Noble families weren't just calculating, they were out right cold blooded, and for the ones gambling on eventual victory over Albion, the chance to marry one of their sons to the sole heiress of the Windsor family, still wealthy and influential in exile, was probably irresistible. Emily had become a blooded veteran at keeping the young suitors at bay, but tonight was the perfect opportunity to be surrounded and overwhelmed.

"Kirito-kun." Asuna came to a decision, looking him in the eyes. It wasn't something that needed to be said out loud, they had to go to her rescue.

"Yeah." Kirito agreed without needing to be told again. Releasing his wife's hands, they turned together towards the crowd. Emily just needed a partner for the next dance and then she could slip away. And if Asuna agreed that was okay, the Spriggan thought, but it might be tough getting her attention. The Nobles were circling her like wolves.

"Please allow me to have this dance Lady Windsor." A man who was at least ten years older than Emily offered his hand.

"Pardon, I really must decline," The Countess of Windsor slipped by, holding up her skirts so that she wouldn't trip, "I have an engagement with Lord Thinker to discuss a joint venture, and have been trying to meet with Count Woestte for simply ages."

"Perhaps I can be of assistance." A younger Nobleman, actually pretty handsome, intercepted her. "My family happen to be on quite good terms with the Count. Why don't we discuss it while we dance?"

"No no, that's quite alright!" Emily replied shortly and then was moving again to escape.

"Lady Windsor."

"Please may we . . ."

"Ah, you're as lovely as I've heard . . ."

"Excuse me." Kirito was squeezing through the sharks when they suddenly went still. It turned out that Emily didn't need their help after all.

"Hey, a dance might do you a little good, Millia-chan."

If Nobles were good at one thing, it was holding a poker face. They managed not to gawk at Millia or the handsomely dressed Knight who had just taken her hands and put themselves between the Countess and her pursuers. 'Talk about bold.' Kirito thought as Emily looked her savior in the eyes and Caramella smiled back.

"B-but . . ." One man managed to begin.

"Miss Caramella." Emily's voice brightened as she recovered from the surprise and her whole face lit up. "It's been a while. Actually, I think that might be lovely, Dame Foster."

The suitors were still stunned as the pair started towards the floor to join in the next dance. It was one of the younger men who at last managed to choke out a challenge. "But Lady Windsor, t-this is highly irregular! And you . . . Faerie woman . . ." Caramella's grin never faded as she raised an eyebrow. The man tugged at the collar of his well made jacket. "I mean to say," he went on civilly, "This is no place for a woman to dance arm in arm with another woman. Surely Faeries have that tradition as well, I should think!"

The Knight tilted her head, lips pressed thin. "You know, you'd be right? But you see the thing is, my boss _just_ asked me to be Millia-chan's escort for the rest of the night."

"Boss?"

"Yeah, really beautiful girl, brown hair, has her own army. I guess she was worried the Countess might feel so pressured she wouldn't enjoy herself."

The Nobleman's eyes glazed as he followed Caramella's pointed finger to the Queen in the middle of a lively talk with Lady Sakuya and the Archduke Gudendorf. Henrietta noticed them and waved cheerfully back. The young Noble blanched and then went into a stuttering flurry to try and explain himself.

"So don't think of it as you guys losing to a girl, think of it as Emily being escorted by one of her Majesty's Knights." Caramella said, leading the Countess away from her stunned suitors. Emily was in the middle of offering her fervent thanks when Kirito and Asuna reached them.

"It's not a big deal." Caramella insisted, the Nymph getting a little red as she rubbed her neck. "Henrietta just asked, besides, I'd look ridiculous dancing with a guy too." She gestured to her dress uniform. "I don't exactly have much in the way of party clothes you know."

"Now, now, I don't think you look ridiculous, Miss Caramella." Emily said gratefully. "Actually, you really look quite handsome like that." The Nymph deflated under the young Noblewoman's smile. Which was probably the problem Kirito thought as Asuna greeted Emily warmly.

"I didn't know you danced." Kirito observed as he stepped up beside Caramella.

"I don't." The Nymph gave a look of supreme exacerbation. "But I wasn't going to let those guys heckling Millia-chan know that, and I can't punch them in their stupid faces like they deserved."

Kirito tried to imagine the sort of diplomatic incident that might cause, especially when things seemed to be going so smoothly tonight. It would be bad. Probably not a good idea to dwell to long on that either.

In any case, the Queen and the Prince Wales had managed to untangle themselves from the conversation and were approaching through clusters of deferring Humans and Faeries. A pair of Morgiana's Kurotaka, a boy in black formal wear and a girl in a simple black evening gown, bowing deeply as they passed.

"Asuna, Mister Kirito, I'm glad you could join in the festivities." The Queen looked to them and then smiled down at Yui who had found a safe haven in the chaos by standing behind her mother. "And you too Yui-chan, I hope you're enjoying yourself." Tristain's monarch straightened the creases of her skirts as she handed her wine glass off to one of the passing waiters. For just a second she looked maybe just a little tired.

"Your Majesty?" Asuna asked. "You've been on your feet for a while. Maybe you'd like to rest?" The Maeve stopped as Henrietta waved.

"It's simply the demands of the nobility, not unreasonable to tell the truth, be they human or Faerie my time is owed to my subjects. But let's not dwell shall we? At last I have a moment to enjoy myself and this evening truly is quite magical. The music is lovely, much more lively than I'm used to."

"Really?" Asuna held and ear to listen. "Maybe it was considered too avante guard for the Gala. I suppose our hosts tonight had a little more freedom, being a Faerie celebration."

"If that's the case, I would rather like to enjoy it." Henrietta wore a dreamy expression as she watched the dancers until the music died down and the dance ended. The next song didn't start up at once, instead, the area near the steps was being cleared as a path was made to the kitchen double doors.

"Oh my." Henrietta sounded trully impressed.

Kirito had heard that the cake was going to be big. He'd heard wrong. It was a enormous, a half dozen levels and nearly too tall to fit through the door. Which made sense if there was going to be enough for everyone. Kirito grinned and tapped Yui on the shoulder. "You saved room, right?"

The cake was being brought before the bride and groom and the guests were being called to attention to witness the formal cutting of the cake, the Faeries Lords gathering around the new husband and wife. Morgiana had made a final transformation fro the night, from her elegant reception kimono to a silken black party dress that barred her shoulders and back. Taking her place beside Eugene as Drake presented the serving knife for the two to make the first cut.

Kirito felt Asuna hand slipping back into his own as they stood side by side to witness. Nobility watching all around them, the Kurotaka observing from the balcony above.

"You know, I'm happy for Morgiana and Eugene." Asuna whispered as the first piece was carefully taken and presented on a plate by Eugene. "But at the same time I . . ." Her voice fell off into doubt.

"Yeah." Caramella breathed beside them. "They look like a great couple. I mean, Eugene doesn't even have to bend down much to kiss her. But they're sort of getting pushed into this."

"I just hope." Asuna's voice fell to a very soft whisper,"After everything Morgiana said, I hope she doesn't end up not being herself."

Kirito squeezed Asuna's hand as before the crowd, Morgiana and Eugene faced each other, Morgiana flanked by Mortimer and Eugene by Sakuya and stepped forward to offer the first bites to one another.

Then, Kirito's eyes widened as he caught on a moment too late, the grin cracking across Morgiana's face and the reluctant smile warn by Eugene as if the huge Salamander was telegraphing just how bad an idea he thought it was.

It wasn't really clear what the exact response from the Nobility was as Sakuya and Mortimer had found their faces smothered in white frosted cake. Henrietta at least seemed to think it was the funniest thing the world and Wales was left to cough very hard as Morgiana artfully licked her fingers.

'Oh man.' Kirito shook his head. "I don't think you need to worry so much." He told his dumbstruck wife.

Wait, was this a new tradition?


	40. Chapter 10 Pt 1 : Lost

Halkegenia Online v3 – Chapter 10 – Part 1

'Have we become lost?'

It was not, as it happened, a question that Sir Terrance Dunwell was especially familiar with asking himself. As a soldier, he had forever been concerned with the path as it was right before him and rarely looked far into the distance. The mission, the campaign, or at most the war. It was within this narrow scope that he had confined himself, and with few exceptions, had excelled.

But now, he need only stand before the window, touch his hand to the glass, and feel the rumbling, distant, and low, and as powerful as the day of final judgment, to wonder again where the path had lead and how they had gotten here.

They were waiting down there, in their tens of thousands, for their leader, for their . . . _Prophet_.

He had always known what lay at the heart of Reconquista, beneath its military and mercantile might, and beneath the self interested Nobility, what drove the movement at its core and what bound them to Cromwell as their master. He had known, but that knowledge had not prepared him for this.

Dunwell hesitated to wrinkle his nose at them. At this stage, he didn't know quite what to think anymore.

Two years ago, around the time that the Royal House's centuries long stranglehold had begun to grow too onerous to too many Noble houses, Reconquista had been a foreign word, something muttered in the streets by commoners and petty mages and by agitators who would swiftly vanished without a trace.

Reconquista, it had not seemed so distinct then, a vague title for a vague dissatisfaction at last given shape and meaning. Dissatisfaction with the King and his 'favoritism'. Dissatisfaction with the Church and its 'complacence'. Dissatisfaction with Kingdom and its 'stagnation'.

It was nothing new or worthy of attention. There had been a hundred such causes and creeds down through the ages, each promising to be a cure for all ills. So common that Dunwell could not name any _one_ in particular. Usually the progeny of some petty mage or low noble with more charisma than sense and ambition that far outstretched his reach. They would rise up from time to time and be put down just as quickly. It had been expected that Reconquista would be no different.

It would be over with and forgotten soon enough, by Winter at latest. And then when it was not over by Winter, more extreme measures had been taken, and it had been thought certainly by Spring.

But this time, that was not how it had gone. It had not been over by Winter and it had not been over by Spring. This time, in every way, expectations had been defied. Instead the House of Tudor had found itself struggling for control and resorting to ever harsher recourse to maintain it. The methods that had worked so reliably in the past had only emboldened the cause of Reconquista and galvanized their message into something vicious.

Accusations that the Tudors had lost their mandate from God, that they were unworthy of the legacy of the Founder. The King was fallen. Wearer of a corroded crown. His throne was a throne of lies.

Outrage against the Church for turning from the righteous path. Romalia should have been leading the war to retake the Holy Land, but the Church now saw only the wealth and luxury that it could gather from the faithful, its teachings hypocritical, men of the Church decadent and corrupt. It no longer lived to serve the Founder's cause.

The Royal Houses were incompetent to the last man. When they did not blindly follow the Church, they squabbled among themselves instead. Those that had rallied the forces to attack the Great Enemy had been defeated every time. Proof that there was not one of Royal Blood who was still favored by God and the Founder.

Fights had broken out, and then insurrection, squabbling and directionless at first, until they had found Cromwell. Or likelier, until _he_ had found _them_.

A man who claimed to have been touched by the power of the Founder's Void and to speak on behalf of God. It was a mad boast by a mad man and sacrilege besides. But a mad man who had proven frustratingly difficult to silence, and sacrilege that the people wanted to believe as they suffered loss after loss, he had gathered support to himself all too quickly, and by whatever magic, had begun to achieve victories.

Reconquista had become Cromwell's cause and accusation had turned to solution and ambition. The Royalty of the continent were weak. They had failed and _failed_ to retake the Holy Land, and in place of a united cause they had turned upon each other. The Church and the Royal Lines were to blame for the misery of humanity, stewards who had grown fat on the hard work of the Commoners and martial talent of the Nobility and lost sight of the Words of the Founder, words that any lettered man or woman could read for themselves in scripture.

Reconquista would set that path right.

Their first proof would come with the Conquest of Albion from its tyrant King James and the obliteration of the corrupt Church doctrine that had shackled the Kingdom for too long. And from there, the unification of the continent as it had not been since the time of the old Romalian Empire. Only then would mankind possess the unity and might to overwhelm the Great Enemy.

It was mad impossibility, sure to fail sooner rather than later, but so had seemed Lord Cromwell's victory over the Royalists.

The masses filling the Palace grounds in their teaming thousands, leaving no empty space, were the true believers. There were Mages among them, countless petty mages, smiths, and apothecaries, and printers, thousands of the low nobility as well. It was sobering to think of the numbers.

"How many, I wonder."

He had not intended to speak aloud, but an answer was given nevertheless. "That's a question for the Founder, Sir Dunwell, but I've heard it's been as high as one in every ten citizens of Londinium in the past."

The reply was offered by a lank, dark haired man, a half head taller than Dunwell himself and cleanly shaven. His dress comprised of dark slacks and blouse over a patterned silk vest, simple on first glance, but the workmanship would have spoken for itself. There was little about him to indicate his rank, that of General, or his title, Earl of Barnard, save for the ring warn on his right hand.

"Lord Barnard." Dunwell greeted the man who was at once a member of the Round Table and one of Lord Cromwell's trusted allies.

Observing from the corner of his eye, the Knight frowned. There were stories about the Lord of Barnard, not even given the doubt of rumors. Most of them had to do with the exact circumstances under which he had become Lord Barnard. Circumstances of which Dunwell had no right to judge.

Lord Barnard was the other side of the coin.

Without the ability to organize, to lead armies, or to plan, a popular movement, even fueled by righteousness would have stalled itself. The Baron of Adeline, the Earl of Barnard, Knights and lesser nobles who had pledged themselves to the cause. They had each joined for their own reasons, be it real grievance, harsh pragmatism, or cold blooded greed, bound together now by Lord Cromwell and his ambition.

"At ease, Captain." Barnard offered easily and with almost a smile to his name as he came to stand beside the window. He clasped his hands behind his back. "Magnificent isn't it? To see the people rallied to our cause? Albion united at last."

"As you say, Sir." Dunwell said carefully.

It was not true of course. Albion was no more united today than it had been under the Tudors. There were still stirrings in the North, where the Royalist holdouts had been strongest and where the name of the exile Prince was still whispered in the streets if not shouted from the hills, and in the country where the folk tales were still strong and Tales of the Faerie Queen were told anew. Much like Reconquista's own rise in that regard.

It seemed like only a matter of time before Lord Cromwell would turn to the same solutions in the North that the Old King had employed in the South. So what accounted for the Earl's confidence? This was not a place where he could permit a loose tongue nor the honesty of his mystification.

Barnard held his expression as he observed the citizenry, it only began to fade as the warmth left his eyes. "A house united. It was not a cause to which my brother often ascribed. I had believed that had changed with the Revolution, when he came to me in the matter of our father. Our conflicts aside, I thought . . ." The Earl opened and closed his mouth. "Well, Perhaps if we had both thought differently he would still be with us."

Yes, the matter at hand, Dunwell seized it, if only as a distraction. "My condolences, Lord Barnard, for your brother."

"And my thanks. Though perhaps not necessary. The pain is dulled by distance of the heart." Barnard answered quietly. "Albeit, I have been grieved by my brother's murder, he was indeed a stranger to me, and a man with whom I have shared bad blood besides. Dorian was not a warm man at the best of times. I simply wish an answer as to why."

"That is why I am here, I presume." Dunwell breathed slowly. Pulled away again, just as another tantalizing mystery had revealed itself in the clandestine affairs of Lady Sheffield.

For the past months, scholars under the Gallian adviser had been sniffing about the old archives in Londinium, singling out and hunting down vaults and storehouses with a frightful single mindedness. She was looking for something, but as to what Dunwell could not say. The Tudor's and their allies had been possessed of vast riches, but he couldn't imagine any treasure that could interest Reconquista's unseen backers, their resources were simply too vast for such petty things and any revenue would certainly be dwarfed by the expense.

What was she after? Discovering the answer would no doubt be vital to unveiling 'Lady Sheffield'.

So vital in fact that when he had been called to the palace, Dunwell had first feared he had overstepped and brought down suspicion upon his own head, only to find that he was wanted for another matter entirely. But perhaps it would have been better if he _hadn't _when he had discovered just what was entailed.

"Of course, Sir Dunwell." Lord Barnard looked like he could think it no other way. "My brother's murderer is believed to be a Faerie Assassin. You and your Squadron have had the most experience in facing the Fae Folk."

"By chance alone. And the most losses in confrontations as well, Sir." Dunwell informed him bitterly. Those of his men who had not been killed had been badly maimed in their pursuit of the Faeries that had joined with Prince Wales and fled from Albion.

"The most confrontations of any sort." Lord Barnard corrected firmly, voice making clear that he would accept no argument. Dunwell regarded him quietly. There had been a time, not too long ago, that the Lord Barnard had been a man of low title. Now he wore his authority like he'd been born to it. "I'm inclined to believe your setbacks speak to the power of our new Foe. Have I misunderstood?"

"Sir, as you will Sir." The Knight said as weariness beginning to catch up to him.

If it could be said that there was a time and place where his fortunes had begun to plummet, than it had almost certainly been upon the day that he had first lain eyes on a Faerie. Repeated run ins had whittled down his Squadron and left the Dragon Knights in a shambles that was only now getting back on its feet.

At least in his last letter, Lieutenant Wells had expressed some cautious optimism in describing the newest recruits. They should have had their hands full working with them, now they would be flying at once into battle. In fact, some of them already had by the reports from Kingston. Foquet of the crumbling earth. So not only a Faerie, but quite possibly a Mage in the employ of Tristain.

His acquiescence appeared to please Barnard who waved for him to come and stand with him beside the window. The noise of the crowds was like a beehive, distant and deep, and powerful enough to cause the glass to tremble softly in its frame as they patiently waited for the ascribed time. So many people, the manifestations of Lord Cromwell's power over Albion.

"Take heart, Sir Dunwell, for all their fierce reputation, these devils are few and reliant on trickery to survive."

He had never fought a Faerie in battle. If he had, he'd have known that 'fierce reputation' was well deserved.

"They cannot stand in open battle. When we find them, we will slay them, and any who have allied with them. They shall be sure to witness our power before their demise." Lord Barnard wore a fierce grin and again Dunwell could only question and doubt.

It was indeed power, but a fickle sort of power, was it not? Built upon lies that had become truths. Victories that could easily turn to defeats. But for now, the people cheered and anticipated, their hope carrying them forward in a gale that one could only ride or be left battered by. It was not long at all before the noise of doors swinging open alerted both men that the time had come.

Lord Cromwell, Lord Protector of Albion as he had titled himself, entered in the company of his retinue this morning, proceeded by four of his Guardian Knights, former Kings Hand operatives, resolute in red dress jackets and white trousers, flanked by a half dozen of the Nobility, the Baron of Adeline among them, red hair and mustache peppered with a growing amount of gray, and followed by his attending servants, messengers, valets, and secretaries.

Dunwell was careful not to linger for any period of time on Lady Sheffield, the ghostly pale and dark haired woman, instead keeping his attention fixed firmly elsewhere. He could have had plenty of excuse for doing so, the raven haired woman beside Sheffield and the soft featured gentlemen in her company were both unfamiliar to him. More assistants?

Lord Cromwell gave him little enough time to dwell on the matter, pulling ahead of his entourage and throwing his arms wide at the sight of the Earl of Barnard. "Duncan." The Lord Protector smiled as he took the taller man by the shoulders. "Such terrible news, the death of your brother. A bright light for our cause has gone out." Cromwell shook his head sadly and Dunwell could not tell whether the sympathy was real or not. The Governor had certainly been an ally to Lord Cromwell, just as he had been a rival to his brother.

"My thanks, Lord Comwell." The Earl of Barnard stepped back as the grip on his shoulders was loosened. "And my thanks to our cause for offering me the means to bring justice upon the heads of his murderers."

"Of course, of course!" Cromwell waved a hand and nodded in Dunwell's direction. "The Captain is a fine soldier. He and his men will serve you well in this matter I should think. But now, please, let us linger on our blessings and not on our strife. Come, walk with me a short ways, General, Captain."

Falling in beside the Earl of Barnard, again Dunwell's eyes turned to the passing windows as his ears to the conversation at hand.

"I would like you to know, Duncan, that our cause is with you, as is the will of God. No means will be forbidden in seeking justice against the demi-humans spawned by Tristain." Cromwell had clasped his hands behind his back, thick fingers playing with the ring on his right hand. "With your blessing, I would like to speak on behalf of your brother today and offer a prayer on his behalf."

"Of course, Lord Cromwell, and thank you." Barnard stepped ahead of the Lord Protector, holding the next door for him. "It is no less than Dorian deserves. I found my brother's lack of faith . . . disturbing at times, but it is in no small measure thanks to him that the County of Barnard and Kingston port weathered the war so well."

"Do not judge him too harshly Duncan." Lord Cromwell sighed. "Your brother was not unique among our cause. For the true faithful, faith alone would sustain them. All men harbor doubts and all feel the pull of petty vices." The Lord Protector's voice fell and fell to a whisper and then shot up. "But take heart, for faith can be renewed, as it is each day until the final day for our glorious cause. Your brother will live on in our victory."

Raising a hand, the Knights took their cue to turn back, stripping the entourage as they went until only the Nobility and a handful of trusted retainer remained. The doors behind them were shut with a -click- and the hum of an enchantment.

Cromwell stopped so suddenly that both following men very nearly stumbled. Turning to face the Earl fully, a gleam had entered the Lord Protector's eyes. "The people need a reason to renew their faith, now more than ever. We have suffered these past months Duncan, tasted bitterness in our triumphs, you most personally. It is why I can think of no man better to bolster our cause by taking the fight at last to these fiends and burning them from their dens."

Dunwell would have spoken then if his speech had not been strangled by shock. Attack one the Faerie cities? He had seen the reports and hear it discussed by the Admiralty. Without preparations, it would be like a man striking a hornet nest. And what of after? This would be the signal to commence the invasion, would it not? But had the conspiracy within the Kingdom not been crushed? How did Cromwell intend to take Tristain, much less hold it?

Were they fools?

"A fine idea, Lord Cromwell." The Earl of Manners balled a fist. "Leaving those devils to their own devices has only proven a mistake so far."

Mad?

"The cause has come too far to lose its nerve now!" Baron Ros, tall and prematurely white haired proclaimed. Once a minor Lord of the Western Provinces, now an officer of Lord Cromwell Reformed Church of Albion charged with interpreting its commandments. "We did not rally to Reconquista for it to end with Albion. Even if it is beyond our lifetime, we must never cease to strive for the Holy Land!"

And all of the lands between here and Holy Land no doubt, Dunwell realized. Dulled incomprehension as he realized that the confident smiles of Cromwell's inner circle were speaking the truth of how they felt. Yes, they were indeed mad. The feverishness that had consumed the people had found its way into them as well

"And what say you, Charles?" Cromwell cracked an eye towards the still silent Baron of Adeline.

Oft commented upon as a vibrant and spry man, the past year had aged Charles Adeline so. His skin hung on him like an ill fit jacket and his eyes were more often dark and bloodshot. His character as well, where once he had been fine and jovial, he had grown quieter late, drawn into himself. Anger had driven him as one of Cromwell's supporters all the way to the Walls of Newcastle.

Now that the King was dead, that will had guttered out and all that was left was a hollow old man. A hollow old man who still commanded the respect of many in the South. His family's misfortunes had become the spark for the greatest single defection of the Nobility to side with Reconquista and he should have been a voice of moderation.

Adeline blinked slowly, watery blue eyes turning to Cromwell and then the rest of the Nobility. He looked back to the Window. "Wales Tudor still lives, as does Emily Windsor, and Henrietta de Tristain. That is too much of the Royal Blood for my liking. Stamp them out please."

So cold it seemed impossible that this was the same man who had given his blessing to the marriage of his only daughter and the second Prince.

"You need only give the word." Barnard bowed deeply. "Though, I had not imagined the fleet could be made ready so quickly. What of our losses? When last I spoke with Admiral Blake he had thought it months too soon for a counter attack."

"Do not linger long on the doubts of Admiral Blake and his ilk." Cromwell chuckled softly. "In the Kingdom of the Faithful, a doubting man has his place too. But I can assure you that the fleet will be ready. Our setbacks have merely been a lesson well learned. The fleet will employ measures to counter the Fae."

A twitch of his lips, raised Cromwell's mouth into a satisfied smirk. "And thanks to details salvaged at Newcastle, we have divined the location of an old relic. It is centuries neglected, forgotten magic beyond our knowledge to recreate, but our allies are restoring it for us." Dunwell felt the fine hairs of his neck prickling at the words and could nearly feel Lady Sheffield at his back. "When the time comes, it will be yours with which to shatter the walls of their coastal keep. Until then, concern yourself with punishing those that have transgressed against the White Isle itself."

Turning then to Dunwell, the Dragon Knight said nothing as Cromwell examined him and then smiled. "As a personal request, Sir Dunwell, might I intrude upon your services yet again?"

Asked so generously, and of course not truly a question at all. "It would be my honor, Lord Cromwell."

"Splendid!" Gesturing to his side, Cromwell's smile only widened as he beckoned to his retinue. "I am sure you have met my Secretary, Lady Sheffield."

At last Dunwell allowed himself to look at her, and felt his stomach twist. There was something severely wrong about a woman so beautiful, and yet whose every expression never reached her eyes. Even the undead seemed less devoid of life. "We have met in passing." The Knight said civilly.

"I am familiar with your reputation." Sheffield enunciated with a faint Gallian accent. "Though not with your person. I am pleased to properly make your acquaintance, Sir Dunwell."

"Lady Sheffield and her assistant will be accompanying you in pursuit of the Faerie saboteurs. Their expertise should prove invaluable." Cromwell explained as cheerfully as if describing holiday.

"Pardon, expertise?" Dunwell asked uneasily.

"Miss Isabella is an exceptional water mage." Lady Sheffield gestured to the raven haired woman at her side who bowed humbly at the praise. "It has been her task to examine the Fae in search of a weakness and she would very much like to examine any slain samples."

"I have already had the opportunity to render down one of the preserved specimens." The Water Mage supplied helpfully. "Such fascinating creatures our enemies have devised."

"Devised?" The Earl of Barnard frowned. "Then you have discovered something of their nature?" A tantalizing promise that snatched the attention of all present and turned it upon this lone woman.

"Oh yes." Miss Isabella said with no small satisfaction. "Whatever else the Fae may be, their bodies are most certainly artificial."

A ripple of surprise spread through the gathered Nobility, turning to disbelief and then outrage. All save Dunwell who had known well enough of this truth from the start. Indeed, as Isabella said, whatever else the Fae might be, they were not as they once were. "Artificial you say, as in a Golem?" Baron Ros asked cautiously.

"Not so simple as an Earth construct. They live and breath as you and I. But there is a regularity to the composition of their fibers which is almost unheard of in natural life. And their body composition and structure is wholly different from that of a human or even, dare I say, an Elf." There was a shiver at the thought of a creature more alien than the Great Enemy. "It is a pattern I have seen also while examining the Fauna, the mobs, that have been sampled from their territories. All of them, all of ALfheim it is safe to say, is akin to some vast conjuration."

Those words were aloud to settle in, pressing down on the Nobility and smothering them into silence as the boggling revelation took hold. Baron Ros paled. The Baron of Adeline remained silent, almost disinterested. And Lord Cromwell simply smiled as if this could not be more pleasing.

Barnard was the first to recover. "Is that . . . Even possible?"

"The conjuration of life?" Isabella asked and then shrugged. "A fascinating question. It has long been speculated upon. If one is to take hearsay as truth, it has perhaps even been achieved in the past, by those mad enough and powerful enough to create life or transfer it into the lifeless. It is the domain of forbidden water magic of course. But this is on a scale and complexity far beyond that scope."

"And as a tool of our enemies." The Earl of Manners growled. "All while the Church abides!"

"Take heart now." Hope came in the form of Baron Ros. "These creatures are unruly and meddlesome and have caused Tristain as much grief as benefit. I would say that is proof enough that they are not some fearsome weapon of our enemies. Just abominations created by who knows what force. It is unclear if they are even _meant_ to oppose us. But as they do, they shall be swept aside."

"It is just so." Lord Cromwell agreed with a firm slap of his hands. "And this news could come at no better time for our cause. Gentlemen, faithful servants of our God and Founder. I do decree that if these Faeries are truly inhuman products of forbidden magic, then no magic shall be forbidden in our campaign against them."

Dunwell felt his heart sinking as he realized what was being said. No magic . . . He was . . . He was _justifying_! 'Just as you have.' Dunwell told himself. And this time, he wished only that he knew which he loathed more, the men giving their mutters of approval at the idea, or himself for his part in it.

"Lord Cromwell?" The Earl of Barnard paused. "I assure you that there is already no magic that I would refrain from in slaying this blight."

"Wonderful to hear my Dear Duncan." Cromwell proclaimed. "The Void shall guide you, General, on this day, as it will on the Last of Days. And you as well, Captain. Please take the best of care with Lady Sheffield and Miss Isabella."

"I will look forward to working closely with you, Sir Dunwell." Lady Sheffield said as she offered her hand, life still absent from her eyes.

Dunwell was overcome by the urge to slap it away before, at last, allowing it to rest atop his own. "And I with you." He kept his voice remarkably restrained. 'You Witch'. There was simply no other word for her, and this Isabella was likely no better. But if she was placing herself in his hands, he could only leap at the opportunity. "Though I warn you, if we are to pursue Faeries, there will be a great deal of danger. I cannot assure your safety."

It was Isabelle who answered, tilting her head aside as if to hide some hideous amusment. "I would fear not, Sir Dunwell. We have thought to bring our own means of protection."

"Oh?" He wished he had not delved.

"Why yes. The samples you provided should prove more than enough, Captain."

Thinking to himself, and only to himself, Dunwell had his answer, he'd had it for some time in fact. 'I am truly Lost.'

* * *

><p><em>Servants of our Righteous God and Founder. My faithful. You who are the foundation of our cause, the fire in our heart, the breath of our voice. I should ask you all to be silent, if only for a moments time, for I must bring you sad tidings this day. <em>

_The murder of Governor Barnard, master of Kingston on Hull and Loyal Servant of the Holy Cause of Reconquista. His life was taken from him by vicious saboteurs in service to our enemies._

_I would ask you all to give a moment of Prayer for the deceased who was instrumental in the Capture of Kingston, foreshortening the suffering of its people and strengthening our cause._

_. . . _

_A Bright Star in our sky has been extinguished never to return, not honorably by sword in battle, or humbly by the hands of time, but by cowardice of the dagger, by treachery in the night! Nor was this foe a misguided lamb, a man or woman like you and I broken to the fealty of the Tudors. Not a Noble or a Commoner among us, but an outsider, a transgressors appeared in this world and soon to become the bane of our cause!_

_Much has been made of the Faerie Folk, stories of beautiful creatures who dance on the rays of the sun and moon and are born from the wind itself, old wives Tales of the Faerie Queen Medb and her daughters._

_But do not let these tales blind you to the Truth. These Faeries are no Kin of Medb and they offer no salvation! _

_Would a Noble Faerie slaughter the crew of a ship? Would the children of Medb turn that same ship, loaded with the ordinance necessary for our defense upon Kingston, intent to destroy the city and innocent lives which Governor Barnard so nobly risked himself to preserve? Would these Brave Beings of the Old Stories twist the knife in the Dark?!_

_This is the true legacy of the Faeries of ALfheim, but beings far removed from the favor of God. Their noble beauty is but a mask to hide the hideous and craven beings beneath, their warm words nothing but trickery, a lour to you, the righteous! Their might is but deceit, their every attack against us more proof of their cowardice! _

_York, and Newcastle, and Kingston On Hull, the destruction of our Armory at Wallsend, and the murder of our Noble servants. From the very first moment they have declined honor and decency in favor of reveling in Godless slaughter._

_And now they make their home in Tristain where they have hunted our Faithful on behalf of the corrupt Queen, no more worthy of her title than the fallen Tudors. They make their home upon the continent, sullied by a decadent Church which has long forgotten the way and left mankind to languish. _

_But if they stand before us, then so be it. We the Righteous must not back down. We the Righteous must move ever forward, ever towards the call of the Holy Land. We the Righteous, the Faithful, will shall prove our Faith in God. Onward for the cause of Reconquista, onward for the promise of the Holy Land!_

* * *

><p>The sky was only beginning to lighten over the highway to Saxe Gotha, but the roadway and the countryside were already stirring in anticipation of the day.<p>

Thanks to the White Isle's uncontested position above the continent, and the high clouds that often blanketed it at night to reflect the first rays of the sun, morning came early to Albion. The birds were already chirping in the trees, the shepherds were leading their flocks to fields, and three black haired, innocuous human youths were already walking the roadway, joining with the foot and carriage traffic that had been growing for the last hour.

Albion, it occurred to the Cait Syths Shiori, was turning into a lesson of sorts. She was learning an astonishing amount about herselves in very little time at all now that she thought about. There was nothing quite like pushing herselves to her limits, physical and mental, to find out what those limits were and then pushing that little bit _further_. It was intriguing, more or less, never failing to send her hearts racing with excitement. She could never tell just what she was capable of until she _tried_.

Of course, not everything she'd learned about herselves had been very pleasant. Really, quite a bit of it would have given her past self nightmares. Gave her present self even _more_ nightmares. But she should have been getting used to those by now. And besides, not everything she'd learned had been so sinister.

For instance.

-Crunch-Crunch-Crunch- Mahou Shiori chewed as demurely as she could manage with far too much in her mouth.

She'd discovered in a world without conveniently packaged supermarket food that all three of her liked apples.

-Muguuu!- The little cry of delight coming from the currently child sized dagger Shiori.

_Really_ liked apples.

A sharp -Crack!- emanated from the red spheroid in Sword Shiori's hand as he finally succeeded in performing the trick she'd seen in an old anime, the one that involved splitting an apple or pear with just the thumb. And she'd thought that it was bullshit until now.

Well, at least Nanami would have been happy she was eating healthier and almost taking better care of herself. Assuming the local food wasn't loaded with horrible parasites. But she hadn't gotten sick so far so it probably wasn't worth worrying about. Besides, she had three mouths to feed, she couldn't afford to be picky.

At least she knew where the apples had come from, fresh picked from the apple trees behind the roadway tavern she'd slept at the night before to go along with the roasted pheasants and loafs of bread she'd bought for breakfast. One of those pheasants and bread loves, along with a bottle of cyder, was still bundled up at the bottom of sword Shiori's pack, the juices slowly soaking into the swaddled wrappings, a snack for later.

Yet another thing she'd discovered. Hunger, like pain, was easy to shut out when only one of her was feeling it, but hard to ignore when it was being felt by all three of herselves at once. And while thinking about that, Sword Shiori looked out on the grazing fields and farmland all around her, just how exactly did Albion feed itself?

Then again, who was to say it had?

Akira had barely started his high school education before being reborn as Shiori, and certainly hadn't known much of anything about agriculture or economics, but she was pretty sure it would be tough for a country that had just gone through a civil war to keep itself fed, especially a country like Albion. The White Isle's position above the continent was sort of a double edged sword that way.

Almost everything that entered or left Albion had to come by airship. That made the Kingdom very expensive to invade, a big win for the defenders. Even getting an army to its shores would be a big investment, especially if the invading army had to rely on the sparse wind stone mines of the continent for fuel to ship both their soldiers and supplies.

But that also meant it was expensive for Albion to ship and receive goods. Listening to the airmen in Kingston, Shiori had gathered that not even Albion used airships for transporting bulk cargo if it could be helped, and almost never once it reached the Isle itself, hence why the King's . . . correction . . . The _National_ Highway was so well built and maintained that even here in the backwater region of central Albion the road was surprisingly well paved. And it was true that after leaving Kingston on Hull Shiori could have counted the number of airships she'd seen on her fingers, _without_ resorting to more than one of her bodies.

It also explained the novelty of a port city that had been almost totally bereft of seafood.

Albion hovered mostly over the ocean, but couldn't rely on fishing for the same reasons it couldn't easily import food from the continent, not without resorting to kilometers of fishing line anyways. And besides that, the oceans of Halkegenia had some pretty scary creatures swimming in them even before ALfheim had added its own flavor of terrifying monsters in the form of aquatic mobs and [World Border] bosses.

Bosses like [Jormugand the World Serpent], [Scylla the Deathly Embrace], and [Octavia the Abyssal Queen] who had, last Shiori had heard, been classified as unbeatable [Gate Keepers] meant to hunt down and eliminate players who risked reaching the border of the [Game World].

So if they couldn't fish for it, Albion was either able to produce all of its food domestically with enough surplus, even during a war, or it was being shipped in at tremendous cost, or else . . . well . . . _dead_ people didn't need to eat. It was probably a pretty convenient way to silence the last of the Royalist supporters after the key cities had all been taken. Back the regime or starve. It would be admirably efficient if nothing else.

But for now, the cities and the towns were being fed, and food hadn't appeared to be either too expensive or particularly scarce in the countryside outside Kingston.

To her left another ox cart passed laden with goods bound for the city that was just beginning to creep into view from around the shoulder of a forested hill, the 'Westwoods' that spread from Saxe Gotha almost all the way to the far off and sparsely settled western cliffs that looked out upon the 'Endless Sea'. Who knew these days, maybe it really _was_ endless.

The city of Saxe Gotha, like Kingston, what the locals called a city, Shiori would have been inclined to call a small town, only in Saxe Gotha's case it was more so. Kingston on Hull was one of the largest cities of Albion and between its ports and industry had a population in the high tens of thousands.

Saxe Gotha on the other hand was an inland city, one of the largest, but still with a permanent population of only around thirty thousand people. The city sprawled out beyond the forgotten boundaries of its walls, mingling half and half with the remnants of forest that the city had grown around so that at times the only thing visible over the trees were church steeples and the roofs of manor houses.

Inland, surrounded by the countryside, and with only one one major river to its name, flowing in the exact wrong direction though the forest. It was very likely that Saxe Gotha wouldn't have been more than a market town serving the local villages if not for two important facts.

First, the hills to the North of the City were a rather unique formation resulting from a very high density of dormant wind stones accumulating in a relatively porous and chalky depostives very near to the surface. Listening to the merchants at the tavern the night before, Saxe Gotha windstones were low quality, but extremely stable, and there were a _lot_ of them.

So many in fact that a relatively large mining town had grown up on the far side of the hills where the stones were extracted and then transported to Saxe Gotha for appraisal, processing, and shipping to the ports overland part way until they could be put on the Hull river.

Second, Saxe Gotha had a very favorable reputation with the aristocracy.

The city was regarded as having some of the best weather in all of Albion, drawing the likes of Royalty, until recently anyways, both at the peak of summer and in the dead of winter. The surroundings were an idyllic mix of woodlands and meadow carefully managed by the City Steward and providing excellent game hunting. And by some freak of Albion's unique geology and the underlying strata, Saxe Gotha was home to a number of naturally occurring mineral springs.

Together, these factors had contributed to the relative prosperity of Saxe Gotha. It also didn't hurt that the present Steward of the city and its surrounding Lands had fought hard to stay out of the civil war one way or another until the dust had settled. Thanks to him there had apparently only been a single major battle on the doorstep of the city, although the streams of wounded soldiers had apparently traveled this way seeking safe haven as the fighting had headed North and become more vicious.

Yes, Saxe Gotha had Sir Samuel Willheim of Orange to thank for weathering the turmoil of Albion so well, and for his service Sir Cromwell had declared him rightful ruler of Saxe Gotha. The title of 'Steward' remained, but it had become an inherited position that would be passed down to his Children, if he had any.

If he didn't, Shiori didn't plan to give him the chance.

While Albion had taught her a lot about herself, she was frustratingly bare on leads relating to her real objective. All she'd gotten from Barnard in the end was a name and a place. Sir Willheim or Orange, Saxe Gotha, and she no way of telling if she was being sent on a wild goose chase.

But she couldn't stick around Kingston, there was nothing for her there. The city had turned into a very bad place to be for a cooped up Faerie. Even if Mimic held up perfectly to Halkegenian magic, and even if her cover as a trio of commoner children had given her leeway, she was bound to have made a mistake eventually, and in the middle of army of guards on high alert.

For now, she'd just have to hope that Barnard had been a good liar. Good liars always built off of the truth, more or less. It wasn't like Sir Willheim had much to suggest he _wasn't_ well connected in the establishment of Reconquista, and with Dorian Barnard as the exemplar, she'd probably find him equally unpleasant in person.

Shiori felt her sword self's palms itch as Saxe Gotha grew nearer and nearer. Going straight for Sir Willheim felt like a good idea, her instincts to stalk and pounce thought so anyways, but her higher brain was getting the last say. Barnard had very nearly turned into a lethal mistake, lethal for at least one of her, and that had been while trying to be careful. She couldn't afford another screw up like that, mages kept too many tricks up their sleeves.

She needed to plan. She needed to know just what Willheim would have going for him. What his dirty tricks might happen to be. A guard would probably be a good start, someone in his household responsible for the master's defense. Though that might be tricky.

Shiori turned her thoughts to it, letting her mind wander along three different tracks as she began to pass farm houses and cottages on the outskirts of the city. Interestingly enough, there were watchtowers and stockades as she neared city limits with improvised gates funneling the highway traffic towards the, by now familiar checkpoint. She'd been careful to to take the main roads and to get her travel papers stamped as she went. There was nothing suspicious about herselves at all, but the last thing she needed was to get caught in some new security measure.

Mahou Shiori stopped to ask one of the guards manning a stone block house, being sure to put on her polite and demure persona when asking the young musketeer what had happened.

"Brother tells me that Saxe Gotha is a safe place in these times." Mahou Shiori exaggerated a bite of her lower lip.

The musketeer, a tall, freckled, and hay haired boy who couldn't have been more than seventeen or eighteen was quick to wave his hands and assure her that all was well. "These old things aren't to stop armies. We're . . . well the Cap'n calls it 'Securin the Primetr' Miss."

"Securing against what, may I ask?" Shiori frowned. This wasn't to stop Faeries, that was for sure. And it wasn't to stop a concerted infiltration. Saxe Gotha wasn't Kingston, it wasn't an ancient fortress, it was just a city with some old walls and wall fragments.

"Well . . ." The boy grimaced as if he didn't want to say it. And then it came out all at once. "It's the Orcs . . . I know I know . . . they ain't to be found in Albion nigh on centuries but Lord Cromwell's armies well . . ." He licked his lips nervously, as if he was somehow personally at fault. It took Shiori a moment to realize she was boring into him with her eyes.

"Suppos'n they say they were to be used up on the battlefield. But som' of m' have gotten loose, or survived when they shouldn't have. Right tough bastards they are. Uhm, pardon me Miss." The boy blushed nervously and it occurred that he might have been glancing to her human form's rather more generous bust. "So we've had a few sighting of late. Just a few bands need'n to be stamped out yet. His stewardship has his Sheriffs and huntsmen in the field now. The barricades are just to keep'm from getting any ideas about the City being soft."

"Well, that is a relief." Shiori was sure to sigh. "Thank you for your time. Now please, pardon me."

"Of course. Of course. Happy to be of service Miss!" He was still watching her when she turned to depart, and once she was a good ways away as well, Dagger Shiori noted with a hint of distaste that, when she thought about it, probably wasn't really fair to some poor bumpkin probably from whatever amounted to the sticks in Albion.

The crowds got thicker as she neared the checkpoint, as did the number of guards. A lot fewer mages than in Kingston and a lot more commoners. All of them well equipped and wearing a coat of arms on their shoulder. That probably made them Sir Willheim's men, his personal guard, more or less. Well, fewer magicians was a good sign, it would make her job easier anyways.

The line to enter the city was already growing long with the morning traffic, and merchandise for the markets had the right of way and priority, leaving Shiori to sit with the other travelers lining benches or squatting at the side of the road. It should have been a chance to pick up a few juicy bits of conversation.

Should have, except . . .

"Mama! Mama hungry!" The source was a little girl, probably barely old enough to walk on her own, head full of dirty blonde hair, and dressed well enough that for a commoner her family was probably well to do. Well enough to afford decent clothes and shoes and to keep them clean.

The cries were shrill, on the verge of tears, and the sort of thing that usually got attention in department stores. Here, everybody was either trying to ignore it, or smiling sympathetically for the mother's trouble.

"That's enough Elise." A woman who looked careworn but whose prematurely graying hair still shared much with her daughters whispered soothingly. "We're almost to where we're, you're get to see your Papa, and then you can have as much as you can eat."

"Mmm . . . Mmm." The girl nodded tearfully but still struggled to keep the noises down.

"There there, there there my little Elise." Her mother picked her up and settled her on her knee. "Try to be like your brother." She nodded to a boy, a little older with soft brown hair and dark brown eyes playing quietly with some sort of wooden spinning top that twirled smoothly before being sent tumbling when it struck a groove in the cobblestones. "See how William is being so quiet. You're hungry too, right William?"

The boy looked up very seriously for someone who couldn't have been older than five. "Yes Mama." He nodded.

"See? You have to be _just_ like your brother and then I promise we'll eat." The mother made more soft noises to alleviate her daughter's distress.

The little girl was trying to be brave, but she was probably still too small to really get the hang of it. Too young to distract herself other than by crying. Sob of 'hungry' bubbled up again and again, much to the irritation of some sitting nearby.

"Brat's hungry then why doesn't she stuff it to her tit?" One of the younger men among a group of laborers grunted and promptly received a smack upside the head by one of the older men.

"Just let it cry. That's how these things go."

"Even so . . ."

"A child should be better behave than that."

"Should be hit until it learns properly."

Shiori didn't know why, but that last one raised the hackles on the back of her necks and she found herself compelled to fight down the desire to thrash someone, probably several someones, probably the people who didn't stop talking.

"There there. There there!" The mother said again and again tiredly, ignoring the hostile voices around her. "We'd have eaten today, but lodgings were so expensive. It took everything just to get here. There there. There there."

Shiori didn't know when she decided to get up or whether it had been Mahou or Dagger Shiori who had dug into Sword Shiori's pack for the wrapped parcel. Just one moment he was sitting and then the next, Sword Shiori was stepping forward to introduce himself in a broken greeting.

"Excuse me . . . Miss?"

"There's nothing wrong . . ." She began, snapping around with a venomous glare in her eyes that put Shiori's best to shame. Old instincts of the recluse Shirotaka Akira nearly caused Shiori to scamper back, which was surprising, she didn't think of herself as being afraid of anything. The eyes finally looked at the boy, the young man, and the bewildered look on his face, and softened. "Oh . . . Oh dear, please, pardon me for that." The mother offered quickly. "I was simply . . ." She shook her head. "That was rude."

Shiori paused at that moment, wandering if she shouldn't just turn back while she had the chance. Then the little girl looked up, peaking one eye out as she buried her head in her mother's shoulder. Big, dark brown eyes, the biggest and most innocent eyes in the world.

Nanami had had those eyes once. And then she'd woken up from SAO . . . and she'd lost them . . . and it had been Akira's fault.

_Yeah? So what?_ Shiori stamped that thought out. Instead, sword Shiori pasted on a smile and offered the wrapped handful to the mother and her daughter.

"Here." Sword Shiori said. "I bought it this morning before I set out. They didn't have a mage at the inn I was lodged at but it should still be good." The mother's eyes widened as pulled the parcel open and examined the neatly sliced pheasant meat. And there's bread too, if you're worried the pheasants gone bad." Shiori very carefully looked past both the mother and her child, never into their eyes, _never_.

The mother opened and closed her eyes a few times and then another shake of her head. "Th-thank but . . . I have no money to repay you . . . My husband is working in the city you see, and he wrote for us. I . . ."

"I didn't ask you to buy it." Shiori said. "I asked you to take it. I'm giving it to you. If you want it. It'll probably spoil before we're hungry again." He nodded over his shoulder to his other selves.

"I . . ."

"I have to go now." Sword Shiori turned. "On second thought, there's some things I need to do before I get my travel pass stamped." Turning fully, Dagger and Mahou Shiori got to their feet with the bags. Maybe she could start searching out here. Whatever, just as long as she didn't have to look into those grateful eyes.


	41. Chapter 10 Pt 2: House of Rose Petals

Halkegenia Online v3 - Chapter 10 - Part 2

Kyuu!"

A flash of steel caught in the sunlight of the Fort grounds.

"Ke!"

A harsh -thump- as the dulled practice blade met and bit into a bundle of hay the size and general shape of a man all the way to the wooden poll at is center.

"Koreh ya!"

Another harsher -crack!- as a second blade traced a clean arc that connected with mannequin's head and carried through with enough force to leave it half severed, hanging by bits of straw and splintered wood.

The assailant, satisfied with the results, slowly rose from his finishing position, returning the training cutlasses to their scabbard before retrieving a hand rag to wipe away the sweat dripping from his brow.

"Having it out with another of Foquet's fierce Golems are yeh Ensign Trayvor?" A cackling laugh came from the door to the barracks as Flight Lieutenant Secord emerged, buttoning his blouse over a stocky and heavily muscled chest. The man he was addressing was just the opposite, short, and thin as if still a boy, but possessed of the sort of a wiry strength and build that was just as good in a soldier.

A strong lad he was, and a quick thinker too after the incident just a week ago. At least, that was what Holland thought.

"Holland. Aye Holland, looking over the Ensign again?" The not so pleasing voice of Sir Richard Meinhardt called for his attention in the present. Driving a powerful hand down on his back in a stinging slap, the fiery haired man grinned as he came to stand beside him. "Keep it up a bit longer and I might start to think you're chasing his arse!"

"Thank you for that lovely image." Holland replied dryly as he leaned against the battlement overlooking the Fort grounds, chiefly overlooking the drill area where Ensign Blair Trayvor was in the middle of another round of sword practice. He was determined at least, determined to use that two handed style and gain competence with it. "Though to question. If I am watching the Ensign with designs on his arse, what does that say about you watching _me_ enough to notice?"

Meinhardt's lips set into a thin line and then peeled back in a confident grin. "That I really am a good friend looking out for you. I confine myself only to the shapely plumbs of the fairer sex thank you very much." Meinhardt's grin faded a fraction. "But you're right I've had an eye on you. You're not yourself today. I'd wager not yourself all week. Perk up, you got stuck in it and came out better than the last time. And against Foquet the Crumbling Earth no less. That's got to count for something, aye?"

"Thanks for the confidence, but Foquet isn't the one that has me worried." Holland sighed. Once, he would have counted his fortunes to have survived even a passing encounter with the legendary thief. Now, he'd have taken a hundred more Foquets for what they'd learned in the aftermath of the attack on Kingston. It was like waking after Newcastle all over again, the fear bread by rampant speculation, and the confident belief that another attack would come at any time.

"Ah, the unmentionable flying people." Meinhardt reasoned as he took a place beside Holland leaned on the wall. "I suppose that _would_ have you worked up."

Holland gave his oldest, perhaps _only_ friend, a mortified look as he realized the man was dead serious and came to the quite simple conclusion that he was likely mad due to some malady of his Germanian heritage. "Meinhardt." Holland grimaced.

Holland had ears and a mind of his own to make up. Kingston was a port City, his curiosity had led him to spend time in the Port District, listening like a child to the stories told over and over again about the Faeries of ALfheim, and from those rumors and hearsay, piecing together the 'maybe' truth underneath. That precious truth might be important, now more than ever.

The half Germanian inhaled and then blew out a long breath that didn't quite become a sigh but rather faded away into silence. Then, because Meinhardt could never leave anything unspoken, for better or worse, he started.

"Look, we've known this was coming. We've _always_ known since Newcastle that you and I were going to see battle before this was through and that it was going to be against those damned twinkle winged bastards infesting Tristain. That's just the way these things go."

Holland snorted. As if there was some way these things were _supposed_ to go. _The Founder does us no favors_. The young Knight thought to himself. But also, _w__hat have we done to make them hate us so? _He could scarcely imagine, but they did. He'd glimpsed it in _her_ eyes at Newcastle.

"Cait Syth." Holland said, shaping the unfamiliar words carefully. "Near as anybody who witnessed them can tell, the Faeries were Cait Syth."

"Aye. The ones with the cat ears." Meinhardt pantomimed with his hands in the shape of two triangular ears atop his head. "And a tail too from what I hear. Wonder if that would make it bestiality. Best take that up with the Good Lord Cromwell." A blasphemy uttered so casually, only Meinhardt could have made that sound ridiculous enough to laugh.

It was among the dangerous oddities of the Fae that Holland had gathered. Salamanders, Cait Syth, Sylphs, Spriggans . . . They were similar, in general, while being uniquely dangerous as well. The Generals of the Army had commissioned broadsheets instructing in how to identify each Faerie Race on sight as well as listing their known qualities and abilities albeit who knew how much was truth and how much was confused rumor. Holland had digested them all anyways.

"Cait Syth are supposed to be strong magicians and beast masters." Holland recalled. "I've read their senses are the sharpest you'll find. It would make them perfect assassins, wouldn't it?" Able to move and fight in the dark like it was daylight. No wonder they'd escaped the patrols.

"Aye. If the ears don't give them up." Meinhardt snickered. "Or the tail. Going to be a right bit tricky to keep those covered up me thinks."

"Assuming they need to cover them up."

"Pardon?"

"They're magicians after all." Holland reasoned tiredly. "Who's to say the Faerie don't have their own means of disguise." That was common enough Faerie lore that even a child should have thought of it. So why wouldn't they have expected it of _these_ Fae?

Meinhardt worked his jaw a few times, falling entirely too silent before chuckling nervously. "Disguise and transfigurement spells? Now you're jumping at shadows. Besides, even if they could, that sort of magic gets swept for. In a city like Kingston, they'd light up detection wards in a heartbeat." Now it just sounded like the fire mage was trying to reassure himself. Try to be sure _he_ wouldn't be the one jumping at shadows.

"Human magic gets swept for." Holland corrected. "Faeries aren't humans. It might be like Spirit Magic that way, hard to detect."

Meinhardt wasn't looking nearly so confident anymore. "This is going to be a problem."

"Obviously." If the Faeries were still in the city, they could be hiding in plain sight, a terrifying possibility, so all of the searching they'd been doing for the last week might very well be worthless. Holland turned his eyes back to the grounds where the rest of the squadron was conducting maintenance and drill to prepare for their next call.

Eventually his attention turned to a head of vibrant blue strolling down the covered walkway on the southern end of the courtyard, Miss Eirn Luttece, Secretary to the Fourth Squadron and in some ways a greater authority than even Lieutenant Wells in the absence of the Squadron Captain. A fact that grew all the stranger when Holland paused to think upon her apparent youth. There were implications that could be drawn about Miss Luttece which Holland didn't care to linger upon.

Regardless of Miss Luttece's experience, she was obviously amply talented and knowledgeable enough in her role as the Squadron Administrator, at times appearing to even preempt an experienced knight like Sir Wells.

And when all was said and done, she had shown the intuition to suspect and follow the famed thief Foquet who had disguised himself as one of the Lord Governor's guards. Though they had failed to apprehend the thief, in fact rather disastrously for Miss Luttece, it had still revealed the accomplice of the Faerie Assassins.

Presently, the Secretary had recovered from the miserable humiliation she had suffered, albeit still quite sore at both Meinhardt and Ensign Trayvor. She was once again well-manicured and well dressed and today in the company of a graying man who Holland did not recognize.

Holland's attention was piqued as the man paused upon sighting Ensign Trayvor in the midst of another elaborate sword form, moving his twinned cutlass in a carefully choreographed series of slashes and imaginary strikes. The newcomer turned back to Miss Luttece, the conversation that followed, even at a distance, appeared to be heated, the newcomers' body language speaking of open agitation before at last sagging, resigned.

Here he came, stalking toward Ensign Trayvor while Holland and Meinhardt were afforded a view from the walls. The Ensign didn't notice the man's approach, or if he did, he didn't let it distract him from his form. The stranger stopped just out of reach, receiving a swift salute from Lieutenant Secord.

"Meinhardt." Holland muttered. "Your eyes are better. That's a Captain's rank insignia on his jacket right?"

"Aye." His fellow Knight squinted. "That'd be."

Blair's sword form came to an end, the Cutlass again returned to their scabbards. Breath heavy, the lad turned towards the newcomer and stopped, blinking long enough to read his sigil and then coming immediately to attention. "Sir!"

"At ease." The Captain gestured, wearing a small frown at the same time. On closer inspection he didn't appear to be quite as old as his white peppered hair or weathered skin would suggest. Though perhaps that wasn't strange at all in a soldier. Especially in times like these.

"Your style . . . Modified Sqval School." The Captain began, stroking at the white stubble of his beard. "Could I trouble you to see one of your cutlass?"

Blair seemed taken aback, an odd state of affairs for the young Dragoon. Maybe that was why he quietly unlimbered one of his sheathed swords and offered it to the Captain for inspection.

"Hmph." The stranger paused as he accepted the sword, hefting the weight thoughtfully. "Lighter than I would have expected. It's no good if you're using this as a training sword. Am I to presume your combat blades are weighted equally?"

"Y-yes Sir!" Blair nodded. "Uhm . . . Begging your pardon, but how did you know . . ."

"Your footwork is excellent." The man said as he took the cutlass by the hilt and judged its balance expertly. "But this sword is far too light. Single Sqval school is entirely about momentum and blade work, and Modified Sqval doubly so."

Blair's face reddened, almost girlish in its own odd way as he accepted the sword back and replaced it on his belt. "Aye. I like the lightness of'm, adds some speed to my swing."

"And if you knew half of what you should using that style, you'd understand how to take that into account. Don't limit yourself to one arm and your legs, do not think of the swords as separate weapons. This sword style relies on redirecting the energy of one strike and parry into another. If you want to master if fully you'll need heavier blades and," he shrugged, "Stronger arms would also help."

Blair couldn't help but scowl, of course. "And where'd you end up becoming a master? Pardoning my asking, Sir."

"I'm no master if that's what you think. But I do know what the sword style should look like. I was knocked around by it often enough, long ago." The man fixed Blair with serious gray eyes. "And you, Ensign? Where did you learn. Or rather, where did you get an inkling of that sword style? Hardly something they teach in the army, much less the auxiliaries." It was phrased as a question, but it painfully obvious it was meant as a command. Hot tempered as he might be, Blair wasn't one to snub a superior. He still hesitated to answer, squirming as if he could get out of replying by simply biding time.

When it came out, it came out all at once. "My Da Sir. His old books anyways." Looking like he wanted to look away, Blair didn't. "They were lousy with this stuff, Sir. I got to thinking I might as well learn it if it was just going to sit in there and collect dust. I'd ask you the same Sir, where you've seen it before that is."

"Like I said, I never learned it properly, but I witnessed on many occasions." And then what could almost have been, generously, called a smile. "Your father was as exceptional with the sword as he was with magic. Given time, I've no doubt the same will be true for you, Ensign."

"Sir?"

The stranger, though very obviously now not a stranger at all stood straighter. "Captain Sir Terrance Dunwell, Commander of the Fourth Dragon Knight Squadron. Ensign." He nodded expectantly.

In other words, their commanding officer. Holland felt compelled to stop leaning on the parapet as Meinhardt grinned and ribbed him in the side. "Aye, here I was thinking he'd be taller."

Snapping back to stiff attention, Blair fumbled his reply. "Ensign Blair Trayvor Sir. Assigned to the Fourth Dragon Knights in your absence, Sir. Again begging your pardon, Sir!"

From the direction of the headquarters building, Lieutenant Wells was approaching at a quick stride, followed by Flight Lieutenant Ashcroft and two of the support company. The Lieutenant saluted his superior, allowing his weariness to seep through as they exchanged greetings.

"Acting Squadron Commander Sir William Wells reporting, Sir."

"Acting Squadron Commander, you stand relieved." Sir Dunwell instructed. "I confess it would appear you could use the rest, Lieutenant."

"All too much, Sir." The Squadron's second in command ran a hand through his hair. "Though speaking freely, I can't say you look a sight more rested yourself." There was really worry in his voice and his eyes as the Lieutenant awaited an explanation. "I fathom things are not well in Londinium?"

Sir Dunwell responded by touching his hands to his temples. "Not well . . . Would touch lightly on the state of affairs." He agreed in a way that could not help but sound ominous to Holland's ears.

It was a subject of which he was naturally predisposed to feel anxious about. Their honored Baron of Adeline was of course never far from Lord Cromwell's side these days, which would almost certainly place him in the Capital. What was not well in Londinium? The only thing to do was to take to the nearest flight of stairs and join with the gathering soldiers of the Squadron.

It was easy to forget, in the day to day of things, that a Dragon Knight Squadron was more than just its Knights. The auxiliaries too, as many as could be sparred were gathering around their recently returned Captain and listening intently as he reported the change in their orders.

"Gentlemen, I have the duty to inform you that we have once again been called upon to hunt Faeries upon the White Isle." Voice ringing out loud and clear, it was met by a soft ripple of muttering from most of the Knights surrounding them and some of the auxiliaries as well. Holland dared to think the Fourth Squadron would know better than any what it was like to Hunt Faeries. It was no wander they had been called upon again.

"Sir." Sir Wells spoke for the men around him. "Am I to assume this means we will be running these assassins to ground?"

"That is our mission as it stands." The Captain nodded. "Lord Cromwell has commanded it be done." A moment of hesitation followed and perhaps a hint of distaste in the following words. "We have been directed to support General Barnard's forces in sweeping Southern Albion. The General is of the inclination that we must hasten this matter to its conclusion, and in that regard I cannot disagree. We've already seen an entire Port nearly blasted to oblivion and the assassination of a Governor. We cannot tolerate for this to progress any further."

The Captain didn't need to say anymore for the gravity of the situation to be impressed on all those present. The recent disasters that had struck Kingston were only just the beginning of the campaign against Albion. The initiative was very much in the hands of their enemies. They had to steal it back.

"Sensible words, Sir." Lieutenant Wells grunted. "But how exactly are we going to smoke them out? Times were we had a hard enough time with hunting three hundred of them. Now we're after just a handful with the inclination of assassins and no doubt with help from a master thief."

"Entertaining doubts, Lieutenant?" Sir Dunwell frowned. "That is very unlike you."

"I mean no disrespect Sir." Sir Wells sounded tired. "And far be for me to voice defeatism. But realistically, these Faeries have already infiltrated a guarded supply ship, killed its crew and detonated its cargo, and then managed to assassinate the Governor of Kingston in the middle of his own City. Has it occurred to you that we might entertain the possibility that the Fae are just _better_ at this than us?"

Hearing it said by the Lieutenant, Holland wanted to cry out in protest, only waiting for one of the senior officers to do so first. He was left waiting. Far from disagreeing with the second in Command, the other veterans seemed agreeable to what he had surmised. A fact that was pressed home when the Captain himself nodded rather than voicing displeasure at what could easily have been called cowardice.

"That is what we will have to think up for ourselves." The Captain looked over the gathered Knights, pausing to nod to the new recruits. "From what little we know, the Assassins have chosen to target high rank officials. Their willingness to set off something as catastrophic as a powder explosion suggests they won't necessarily be subtle in the future. We've been given the full cooperation of the Ro- the _National _Courier Service in this matter, and Lord Cromwell has made available several of his chief aids and advisers. They have brought with them _other . . ." _The sentence hung unfinished for a moment " . . . assets that have proven their worth in past dealings with the Fae."

"Beg your pardon Sir?" Lieutenant Secord grimaced. "When you say other assets . . ."

"He means our re purposed allies of course." A female voice cut off appropriately. Holland turned towards the source of the noise, a trio of hooded figure in the company of two exceedingly pale and dark haired women, one far paler than the other and barring fine facial markings beneath her eyes. It was the other woman, barring a vicious look of satisfaction who had spoken. "One can hardly argue with their resilience if nothing else. A fine improvement over Orcs as shock troopers and I'd wager a sight more intelligent as well."

"Allow me to introduce Lady Sheffield and her assistant, Miss Isabella." The Captain, in fact, sounded truly reluctant to introduce either, casting a furtive glance to both women, but eyes always returning to linger on the hooded trio behind them. In the meantime, Sir Wells had gone deathly pale, not that most of the other men were a sight better. Even Meinhardt could not escape the pall of unease surrounding them. "Lady Sheffield has been recommended personally by Lord Cromwell, and Miss Isabella has previously served with the Special Units in Tristain. She has the most up to date and in depth knowledge of Faerie Magic Available to us. I'm sure that with their help we will be able to hasten this matter to a _prompt_ conclusion.

"Indeed, Sir Dunwell." Lady Sheffield smiled demurely. "Let us work together to make our partnership a productive one."

* * *

><p>Time was that Saxe Gotha would have been a place with much to recommend it to an aspiring military man.<p>

A scenic playground of the high Nobility set in verdant and secure Albionian countryside with many wealthy patrons coming and going at all times of the year. With plenty of parties, gatherings, and celebrations to be seen by and to cross paths _with_ those patrons. The hunting was good in the surrounding forests, and the temperate climate, for Albion, was conducive to a certain _spirit_ among the local girls.

Really, there was a time not too long ago that assignment to Saxe Gotha would have been choice. And perhaps it still was, in a way, for those with the right connections. But as for those seeking to make those connections, the times had not been kind to an ambitious Captain such as Edward Arundell, nephew of the illustrious Earl of Arundell on his father's side, and by good grace of the Lord Cromwell, Captain of the City Watch under Sir Samuel Willheim, Steward of Saxe Gotha

Revolution had been good for the fortunes of the Family, dealing as it did rather permanently with the nuisance presented by the Windsors in both matters of politics and business. Uncle was having the accursed clan's manor, already gutted in the fighting, torn down to its foundations at that very moment in fact.

It had proven less fortunate for Edward in particular who had found himself in Saxe Gotha expecting a comfortable station and an easy path to promotion. Well, he could not deny the comforts of the City, when he was given the opportunity to enjoy them that was, which was rarely as the Steward of Saxe Gotha pressed him on any number of frivolous matters. Which lead to the second. The promise of social opportunity and upward mobility that had never materialized.

While it was true that Saxe Gotha was all but untouched by the war and still a thriving city of thirty thousand deep in the heart of Central Albion, that had more to do with the local nobility and the mining trade which had weathered the war equally well. The many townhouses and affluent residence were still occupied, many by families who had held power for generations uncontested.

But the famous parties and summer galas were distant memories in a time of war, and most of political heads of household had found cause to return to Londinium to be near to the beating heart of the Good Lord Cromwell's new government, leaving their families here to reside in the peaceful and idyllic setting so _generously_ provided by Sir Willheim. So generously provided by Sir Willheim's retainers more like it.

Sir Willheim, the name caused the bitter taste of bile to rise at the back of Edward's throat.

It was _that_ bastards fault, he could hardly contain his disgust. With Uncle, with himself, and most of all with Sir Willheim of Orange, ruining what _should_ have been a golden opportunity. Keeping him busy across the city and out in the country dealing with the vermin Orcs that had been deposited on their doorstep by the war.

_Orcs_. The Captain wrinkled his nose at the very thought of them. Even beneath goblins in his regard. Vile, ugly, vicious creatures the lot of them, and a good riddance they had been all but exterminated on the White Isle in a time far beyond living memory. Now they were going to have to make the effort yet again before they started to breed and infest the back country.

_Fools, if they'd thought fit to give me a command in the Army then I would have seen that we had no need for such animals._

Truly if there was any evidence that humans were the only sophonts worthy of survival it could be found by looking at Goblins, Vampires, and most of all _Orcs. _The fact that the continent had failed to drive them to extinction like the Rhyme Dragons was yet more proof of the soft and incompetent ways of the Royal Houses.

Founder! Not just failing to exterminate the filth, but now holding it close to their breast! Tristain nurturing those _things_ that they had conjured forth from the base earth by who knew what heretical abuse of the Founder's magic. It was high time that a Crusade be turned inward upon the Continent to cleanse the last vestiges of this weak thinking. Only _then_would the Kingdoms of mankind be ready to fulfill Lord Cromwell's prophecy of overcoming the Great Enemy.

And Captain Edward Arundell _should_ have been at the forefront of that Crusade. Instead he was here, languishing, unable to prove himself against anything more challenging than a rabble of Orcs and Bandits, and kept too busy hunting _them_, to ingratiate himself with the higher houses of Nobility.

And all because his _Stewardship_ wanted his precious private hunting ranges kept safe as a babe in the crib. The Steward was like that with all of the Lands of Saxe Gotha. But the deep forests of the Westwood especially. The man barely even knew the meaning of the word 'Hunt', leaving the Westwoods almost untouched past the occasional foray along their border.

A fine shame that was, if only for the fattened bore, not to mention dear and lesser game that would show themselves from time to time along the forest edge.

Edward had resigned himself thus to the Steward's service, until such a time as he could find himself relieved. Hopefully by then the offensives would be moving to Tristain and the Greater Continent. Once the cause began to gain ground among the Nobility of Germania and Tristain, as it had in Albion, there would be ample chance to gain recognition.

Until then, he'd simply have to sate himself on the hunting, and when that was exhausted, the drinking and the gambling . . . and the whoring. That part of Saxe Gotha at least had remained unchanged and it was not hard to find a decent enough house to enjoy the evening, the first evening to himself in what felt like weeks, the Steward at last failing to find need of him.

The House of Rose Petals was just one of many like establishments to dot the back streets of Saxe Gotha, looking like nothing much in particular on the surface save for the flickering red lantern tastefully tucked into the entry where it could be seen only on close inspection.

Once inside, a guest was surrounded by the hot and perfume heavy air, the clouds of animated rose petals, the noise of music, and the diffuse light of mage-lamps behind delicate red paper lantern covers. And of course, the girls, all kinds. Fresh young commoner girls brought on for a wage of room and board or sought after companions, often mages in their own right from lines of fallen nobility, any infirmity more than compensated for by experience and tastefully applied water magic.

The later, much favored by the nobility, were somewhat beyond the means of a mere Captain, but confining himself to the former was no great sacrifice either. It should have been an enjoyable evening of forgetting himself in alcohol and women, if he hadn't been forgetting most of his salary in losing hands of Crown as well.

"A Queen and a Knight." The best he'd had all night, but not nearly good enough. The Captain tossed his hand onto the table, clicking his tongue in disgust and took another measured sip from his brandy as he watched the coins being swept from the table by the victor, an ever smiling little runt of a man with eyes as black and greasy as his hair.

"Such a shame, Captain. Quite the losing streak you've had tonight. No doubt you've a mind to cut your losses." He said that as he deftly took the cards and began to reshuffle.

Edward barely entertained the notion before tossing in another two coins from his purse. Silver Marks issued by the revolutionary government of the Reconquistadors to replace the crown currencies. Another reason to get out of this miserable assignment and back to the front lines where the pay was in gold.

"I feel a changing of my luck." He grunted darkly. "Deal again."

"As you wish, Captain, there's no helping it, I suppose." If he weren't a retainer of the damned Duke of Byron's household, Edward would have rung the little man's neck. But doing so would have gotten him run out in turn. The Madames took a _dim _view of that sort of violence in their establishment.

The dealing runt skillfully began to split the cards among the table. Edward, himself, and two others, nobles from one household or another, both younger and decidedly dimmer than Edward himself, whiling away their time and money. It was telling that neither had fared much better than himself tonight and yet they were still betting eagerly.

Picking up the cards, Edward held a neutral expression as he judged his hand. Not bad, if he could lose the spare prince and bishop and pick up a queen, he might have had a chance at a Royal House. Luck would have to be supremely against him for that to be out of reach when he noticed something standing close in the corner of his eye, someone rather as he was inclined to turn his head and confront a woman, a _girl_ really.

No, on closer inspection he'd say he'd split the difference, a girl yes, but on the very cusp of womanhood, pale _pale_ skin, and gloss black hair hanging in ringlets over the high forehead of heart shaped face inhabited by small nose, peach lips, and large green eyes bright and virginal. One of the new girls, Edward supposed, squinting in vague contemplation. Her dress, almost modest on first glance, was a shear and insubstantial thing of white lace giving a generous view stockinged legs from upper thigh on down and barring slim shoulders feathered by her black hair.

"Pardon." Edward began, seeming to give her a fright as if she had not expected to be noticed.

"P-Please forgive my watching, Good Sir." Her voice like demure bells. "I should be on my way to speak to the Madame." She took a step back, hesitating . . .

Speak to the Madame? A new hire perhaps, well, the Madame would be a fool to pass her up. Edward gave it only a moments thought before deciding his luck really was coming around. And when fortunes were favorable, the only thing to do was to press for more.

"There's no need to be in such a hurry." He took her by one slim wrist, feeling her go limp and unresistant. It wasn't often to be the first to get acquainted with such a lovely new addition to the House. "Miss . . ."

"S-Selene, Good Sir, my name is Selene." She bowed her head shamefully. "Again, I beg your pardon . . ."

"Not at all." The Captain drew her closer, ignoring her hesitant protests. "By all means, make yourself comfortable. Enjoy the atmosphere. You said you were seeking the Madame? Well, I happen to be on good terms with her, so why don't you sit here for a spell and I shall put in a good word for your after this game."

"Oh no, I would never wish to intrude." The girl mumbled. "Besides, there's hardly a place left to sit."

Edward chuckled to himself. If this was her temperament then the life of a whore was going to be an endless surprise to her. "Then why don't you come and sit right here." He offered, pulling her into his lap with a gasp of surprise and discovering rather pleasingly the contours of narrow waist flowing naturally into ample hips. This little Selene might have appeared like a porcelain doll come to life, but she was hardly so slim as her clothing made to imply.

"If you're done picking your companion for the evening, Mister Arundell," the dealing runt growled half in amusement and half in jealousy, "Would you be so kind as to draw your next damned card so we can relieve you of the contents of your purse."

"But of course." The Captain pulled his next card, the Black Jester and sighed. If it had been red he cold have matched it as his prince, alas, the new girl squirming in his lap at least was something of a comfort, her body a pleasure to subtly explore under the envious gaze of the trio who had attracted only modest attention from the House's standbys. If nothing else, her very presence was to the detriment of his opponents who began to bet more recklessly in agitation.

It was thus no surprise to Edward when he started winning. One game after another, and all while little Selene remained situated in his lap. And it was about that time that it began to dawn that his luck might have had another source, closer at hand as it were. He'd caught on only after her realized it had been going on from the start, the girl's interest piquing whenever he had a good hand or else waning when he was at risk of a loss, often before he realized so himself.

Magic?

Of course not, she was simply some commoner child in a hurry to make use of her good looks before, all too quickly, they began to fade, as was the lot of the common people to spring up and wilt like flowers. Besides, an establishment like the House of Rose Petals was home to a discerning sort of clientele. Even if the guests were not made to surrender their foci at the doors, the Madame kept a tightly warded establishment, and with more than a few magicians of her own to keep watch for foul play.

Edward decided that this too was a sign of his fortunes as he at last broke even and then began to work at doubling his money.

In the end, the runt had the sense to fold early and eat his evening's losses. "I suppose bad luck can come to us as easily as good." The man congratulated Edward on the game. Of course there was no hiding it that he was livid at his reversal of fortunes, but the Captain couldn't have cared less.

"Not eager to play another hand?" The Captain called after him. "Your luck could always turn again my man!" But he simply waved Edward off before vanishing into the crowd. Bastard. Well, they were all bastards at heart, now weren't they?

Turning his attention back to his impromptu charm, Edward found himself in a much improved mood as Selene looked up from burying her face in his chest. "Now where were we?" As she gasped again and held back a hiss, as a proper Common should, as his hands explored the plump contents of her brassier. "I believe I mentioned knowing the Madame."

"I . . . I believe you _did_." She whispered between heavy breaths.

"Well . . . I dare say I would hope to become better acquainted with you first." Edward took another shot of his drink as his hand ran down, low, so low down her back and thigh. "So that I can have something to recommend." So low, and then suddenly _up _with another gasp of mingled fear and last vestige of outrage. "I happen to have a private room reserved . . . "

Because even through the haze of his drink he could tell that this was a rare chance. A girl like this happening into the House of Rose Petals. She'd end up as someone's prize and be put out of reach if he didn't act now. Oh, the Madame would no doubt complain, as would the other girls. But by now his patronage ought to count for something, so many nights paying for a room, the unspoken agreement being that it payed for the girls as well. And so what if she wasn't one of the House girls. Who knew, that might soon be arranged.

And Selene could certainly see it too as her uncertainty evaporated away, understanding dawning at that moment in her green eyes, and with it, the harshness of resignation arriving so swiftly on its heels it was as if it had always been there. She could do what she liked with her eyes, no matter, Edward thought, it wasn't where he'd be looking anyways.

"If that would please you, Good Sir." Selene answered coyly as she made to rise, and at last wore a smile that Edward failed to read for the venom contained within. "Please lead the way."


	42. Chapter 10 Part 3: Loss

Halkegenia Online v3 – Chapter 10 – Part 3

Sir Richard Holland could still clearly remember a time, not long ago, after the Baron of Adeline had defected to the side of Lord Cromwell and the cause of the Reconquistadors had begun to score victory after victory in battle. Furtive rebellion had all at once burst into open revolution, and it had seemed like no show of force or act valiance by the dwindling Royalist forces could turn the tide.

The young Dragon Knight had not been ready soon enough to join the campaign, he'd tasted battle for the first time at Newcastle, however briefly, but he had often wondered about the war and what it had been like in those last days. Especially for the Royalists.

If many of Reconquista's strongest supporters could only attribute Lord Cromwell's achievements to 'Miracles', then how had it appeared to King James and his surviving Generals? Standing in the offices of the Steward of Saxe Gotha, Holland had a sinking feeling he now knew. Failure that could not be explained had a way, it seemed, of stirring unease. Agitation that was as dangerous as swords or spells.

The Steward of Saxe Gotha looked up from the dispatch letter he had committed his attention to reading and looked Lieutenant Sir William Wells in the eyes.

Sir Samuel Willheim was not what one would, in particular, picture when imagining a Knight of Albion, Holland thought to himself, rather thin, with features that had begun to gray, and a faltering hairline. And while it was true that Sir Willheim had not earned his peerage on the battlefield, by reputation, he was the rare case of a man who had been held in equally high regard both before and after the revolution. Which also put him in an awkward position of being equally admired and despised, sometimes by the exact same people in the government of Lord Cromwell.

The offices of the steward were similar to the man himself, bookish and muted. Tall oak shelves and cabinetry lining the walls, and an ancient stained wood desk and high back chair set before paned windows that looked out on the gardens of Sir Willheim's residence and the relatively peaceful city beyond the gates.

There were few concessions to ostentation and only a few modest comforts, leaving plenty of space for the quartet of Knights, Lady Sheffield, and her aid Miss Isabella arrayed before the Steward's desk.

"This is . . . a concerning development, Sir Wells." The Steward said as he neatly refolded the dispatch letter and returned it to its envelope. "Faeries, like the ones that attacked York and broke the siege at Newcastle."

"And destroyed our powder mill at Wallsend." Lieutenant Wells added with some note of bitterness seeping through despite his best efforts.

The Lieutenant did not look well today, worrying in its own right, surely being relieved of his responsibilities as acting squadron commander should have seen an improvement of his condition. Instead, Sir Wells had only grown paler and more gaunt, a reaction that had been replicated in the other members of the squadron.

The source was the hooded guards in the company of Lady Sheffield. The young Knight paused. They had not spoken, and he had not spoken to them, but he had been informed of their . . . nature, and the effects that the Gallian methods were having on them. Holland had taken care not to let his thoughts linger long on it, or what lay beneath those hoods.

"Sir Willheim." Sir Wells continued. "We have reason to believe that the Faerie assassins have moved inland towards Saxe Gotha. Your cooperation is requested on behalf of our search."

The Steward was sent rocking back in his chair, lacing his fingers and placing them in his lap. "Towards Saxe Gotha? Then you believe they are coming here? No . . ." Sir Willheim closed his eyes. "Silly me. That is exactly what you think."

"Possibly that they have already arrived." Sir Wells corrected and continued when urged by Sir Willheim. "You've no doubt heard about the happenings in Kingston on Hull."

"The assassination of Governor Barnard, yes." Willheim grimaced. "It is as the Lord Cromwell said in his address, a dark time for the cause of Reconquista."

It could only grow darker if the assassins were moving towards Saxe Gotha, Holland thought, the city even now was thick with Nobility, the families of Reconquista's ruling elite. The assassin had already struck one powerful figure, their next could be anyone up to the Steward himself.

"But Kingston is quite a ways, Lieutenant, surely the assassins would not travel so far." Sir Willheim shook his head. "If you are right, that it would be a feat of supernatural intuition to guess them here."

But it wasn't, not really, Holland corrected. It had been his first opportunity to see the Fourth Squadron in action for himself, it had not been what he'd expected. Sir Dunwell was a methodical man, and so were his subordinates, the problem had not been rushed into, it had been broken down into parts, and those parts broken into parts.

There were assassins afoot. At least three. They very likely had a skilled Earth Mage thief in their employ and worse, powerful disguise magic that was by the accounts of Miss Isabella all but impossible to scry. Their methods were violent, their motives unknown. It was the very worst combination.

Within a day's travel of Kingston there were a half dozen likely places for them to strike next. Spanning outwards by two days travel and that number rose into the dozens. Lord Cromwell had entrusted this mission to General Barnard and by extension the Fourth Squadron, but even with all the forces at their disposal, an enemy that could strike any place at any time simply could not be guarded against.

But maybe there would be a warning, if only they looked for it. By accident or by design, the assassins had already announced themselves once. It had been the Captain and Lieutenant's distant hope that they would do so, again by accident or design, and that this time they would be stopped before they could complete their mission.

General Barnard had ordered the net cast over much of central Albion, every suspicious happening was to be documented and sent twice daily to Kingston by the Courier Services where the reports were sifted through like sand in search of individual grains of gold. And then it was for the Dragon Knights to separate that gold from the pyrite.

Sir Wells took an unprecedented step towards the Steward's desk. "With all due respect, Sir Willheim, without knowing the true motives of the assassins we cannot do more than guess at their next target, or indeed if there will even be another target. We have only our suspicions and must investigate every lead."

Sir Willheim opened his mouth, and instead of speaking, he sighed, covering his eyes with his hand. "Captain Arundell." There was a moment of silence before Sir Wells proceeded to explain.

"The Captain of your city watch presently awaits burial after dashing his brains on the stones outside a brothel. He happens to be the nephew of the Earl of Arundell by the way."

"A tragic coincidence does not an assassin make, Sir Wells." Sir Willheim said, his hand shifted to rub at his jaw. "Think about what it is that you suggest."

"Far be it for me to _suggest_ anything, Sir. I would simply call this rather convenient." Sir Wells turned his head to the side, examining an oil painting hung over the office hearth.

The depiction was of a handsome man in riding attire, apparently in the prime of life. Beside him sat an equally beautiful woman, hair such a dark shade of green that it may as well have been black, and between them, a cherubic little girl in pale blue, looking up to her mother and father. She had her mother's hair, Holland thought, and her father's eyes.

Sir Willheim watched Sir Wells, and then he looked to the portrait. The Steward, already far from a young man, seemed to age years just looking at it, like under the influence of some spell, and when he spoke again, he had become quieter. "What do you intend to do with this hunch, Lieutenant? Close the city under guard? That did little to help Governor Barnard."

"Aye." The Lieutenant nodded wearily. "The governor built himself a fine Fortress, and then threw it away by walking outside its walls. These assassins are not infallible, if we have an idea of where they intend to strike, then we can be ready for them. Our first lead brings us here to Saxe Gotha, our second brings us to you."

"As the target." Sir Willheim said, and yet not afraid. There was more steel to Sir Willheim than anyone would suspect.

"It is a most definite possibility." Sir Wells said quietly. "But we cannot rule out an attack elsewhere just yet. Their objective may be to undermine our position. Then again, they may simply be here to sew terror on behalf of Tristain, in which case, certainly most any high placed Noble would do."

Weaken Albion while Tristain prepared for war. It was a bloody and undeniably effective tactic, and impossible to guard against when they knew so little about the powers of their enemy.

"This is also an opportunity for us. We want to prevent another assassination, but we don't want the assassin to escape either. We would like you to allow us to replace some of your guards with members of the Mage Ground Cavalry." Sir Wells said, placing his hands behind his back. "Two platoons are already on their way from Kingston and should be arriving by morning, they will pose as commoner foot soldiers and rotate with a portion of the garrison so as not to arouse suspicion. Until then, the security of your person will be our highest priority."

Gesturing behind him to Holland, Meinhardt, and Blair. "My subordinates and I will be at your disposal for the duration. Until the assassins are stopped or driven off. On the behalf of our Captain, I beg that you accept."

"A generous offer Lieutenant." Sir Willheim inhaled. "And I do gladly accept." Leaning forward, the Steward's attention turned to Lady Sheffield, silent until now as the Lieutenant conducted his business. "And as for you, Lady Sheffield, you have yet to state your business in Saxe Gotha."

In fact, Lady Sheffield had yet to state her business _anywhere_ in as much as Holland could tell and he doubted he was likely to learn more now. She'd shut herself away in the basement of Governor Barnard's mansion while the search proceeded, emerging only infrequently over the intervening days. Holland had been convinced they would see little of her or her escorts until the summons to Saxe Gotha had been received and Lady Sheffield had been waiting for them to depart.

This was probably the longest time he had spent in her company, and the temptation to study her was overwhelming. Pale almost to the point of sickness and with deep violet hair and eyes. He'd first mistaken the fine markings beneath her eyes for a birthmark, but now he wasn't sure what to make of them. Tattoo's perhaps? They seemed to draw attention away from exact shape of her eyes which were strange on closer examination. Not unpleasant, but not like any woman Holland was familiar with in his limited experience. A question to ask Meinhardt it seemed. Yet something about her decidedly foreign features nagged at him, a lingering familiarity that he could not quite place.

Lord Cromwell's secretary bowed slightly. "I am here by order of Lord Cromwell both to aid Sir Wells and his Knights and to conduct an investigation into other matters on my master's behalf."

"I was not aware that the Good Lord Cromwell was overly invested in the affairs of Saxe Gotha." A hint of unease creeping into the Steward's voice.

Lady Sheffield's lips curved into a small smile. "It is a matter of no great concern. Some of the old archives in your catacombs may have what I seek. And of course, if you could spare someone to show me the grounds of the Saxe Gotha manor . . . Or is that a problem?"

The Steward looked neutrally at Lady Sheffield, and past her, into and _through_ the back wall. "No. I suppose not. I can see no reason to deny your request. The city archives and grounds of Saxe Gotha manor will not be closed to you. Albeit, I can't imagine what you would want at the manor sight now . . . Nothing but ashes remain there."

"Idle curiosity." The Foreign woman said and said no more.

Sir Willheim then rose from his desk for the first time since greeting them. Both thin and somewhat short as well. Not an imposing man at all next to Sir Wells who loomed above him, or even Lady Sheffield who was slightly taller. "If that concludes our business for now. I should like to have my men alerted to the situation. My new Guard Captain at least must be made aware and the watch rotas changed."

"That would be prudent, Sir." Lieutenant Wells said. "If your man truly did suffer an unfortunate accident then it will be but a nuisance. If not . . ." The Lieutenant's eyes traveled the full run of the room, its many shelves stacked high with books and ledgers, an impressive private library. "There's no telling what might have transpired if the assassins were behind your mans death. In fact, that might work for us, if we can keep Captain Arundell's security plans in mind. I would like to speak with your acting watch Captain."

"Of course, Lieutenant. Please, follow this way. Johns should be arriving shortly."

Sir Wells cast a look over his shoulder to his subordinates, Holland included. "Lady Sheffield?"

"Isabella and I shall be taking our leave until evening as soon as the Steward can direct us." The Secretary announced. "Besides, I've little enough to add in matters of defense."

"Of course . . ." The Lieutenant said as if it was not a favor he was eager to accept and quickly turned to follow Sir Willheim, the trio of Knights falling in behind him.

A brief word with one of the Steward's assistents and Lady Sheffield was off, departing their company. Sir Willheim's destination was elsewhere down the light and airy halls of his home, so different from the dark walls, sullen with history which were Holland's recollections of the Adeline estate.

"Captain, I have one request to make of you in this matter and in all else you will have my full cooperation."

"Of course, Sir." Sir Wells said. "Anything at all to see to your security. Please rest assured, Lieutenant Meinhardt and Lieutenant Holland are young, but they are veterans survivors of Newcastle. Along with Ensign Trayvor they were also successful in driving off the Earth Mage working with the Faerie Assassins."

"Foquet the Crumbling Earth. I am aware." The Steward shook his head. "If the folk tales are to be believed, that miscreant got his start not far from here. Who is to say, it may well have trully been him who stole the Mantle of the Saxe Gotha line. And if he too is involved, we will need to work quickly to prepare, Lieutenant. Two platoons of mage troops is quite generous on such short notice, but can your Captain not spare more?"

"We wish we could, Sir." Wells said. If it were only that simple. The Dragon Knights were already stretched thin, and Saxe Gotha was not the only city that needed protecting. As it was, the Squadron's forces had been divided as best they could and ordered to search out any details that might pin the location of the next attack. Until they had more to go by it was the best they could do.

"No matter." Sir Willheim waved. "My request, Lieutenant. See to my security to your satisfaction, Lieutenant. But when you do so, there is someone else I want you to be sure is protected."

"Of course, Sir." Sir Wells said. "I shall have one of my subordinate assigned to guard them personally."

"If something happens, they are to get her away from here. Far away. You understand?" Sir Willheim asked, more like he _pressed_ until the answer was returned in the affirmative.

"Of course, Sir."

'Her?' Holland pondered. He did not recall the Steward mentioning a wife. Did he had a mistress, or perhaps . . . bah! Now he was thinking like Meinhardt, head in the very worst of gutters.

"And as for these 'Guards' brought be Lady Sheffield." Sir Willheim stopped in his tracks, very nearly causing the Knights to pile up at his back. "Are they truly what she claims them to be?"

Holland didn't know if he believed it himself, or whether believing it was better or worse for his peace of mind. "They are indeed Faeries if that is what you are asking." Sir Wells confirmed, pressing his lips together as he looked profoundly displeased. "I will not vouch for more than that."

"To think that Tristain has advanced so far they may have discovered a way to construct these beings." And yet Sir Willheim's voice carried no hint of judgment, just fear.

"Begging the Steward's pardon." Holland felt inclined to ask. "I'd expect you to denounce them for it, Sir."

"Lieutenant." Sir Wells frowned.

"I do denounce it." The Steward agreed. "The creation of life should always remain the domain of God. But it tempts us so. It is not hard to imagine people who would pursue it for any number of reasons. Create an army, undo a mistake . . . that is the nature of us, Lieutenant."

Were the Fae really created beings? Life without soul? Such a thing was possible, it was suggested, but to actually move beyond speculation and do so was almost beyond depravity. And yet, he could not think of them as soulless. Soulless beings couldn't have such hateful eyes.

"In any case. If Tristain can create them, I cannot fault our benefactors for turning these creations to our own service, I simply fear it is the first step on a path we should not tread."

"I could not agree more, Sir." Lieutenant Wells said darkly, receiving nods from all three following Knights. There really _were_ some paths that simply should be tread.

* * *

><p>Once, a long time ago, on a vacation in the mountains, Shirotaka Akira had lain under the night sky with his sister Nanami and looked up at the stars. He had been only ten then, Nanami barely eight, but seeing the stars, the real stars, with their own eyes, a river of twinkling jewels had been the most beautiful thing that either of them had ever seen. And Nanami, the most important person in his world, had wanted to know all about them.<p>

Akira had tried. He'd dredged up everything he could remember from school and surfing the net, all about what the stars were and how they worked. That they were like the sun and were fueled by nuclear fusion, and lots of other facts besides. But even to his ten year old self, even though Nanami would never say a word, he'd thought he was only ruining them for her by talking about that.

So instead, he'd pointed to a constellation of seven stars, picked mostly because he recognized them. "That's Suburu." He'd said, nudging his sister in the shoulder until she looked his way.

"Suburu?" Nanami repeated.

"Un." He'd turned his head to his sister and smiled. "So, what do you think, Nanami?"

"Pretty." She'd whispered.

"That one next to it is Orion, I think." He drew the connecting lines in the air with his finger. "And over there is Perseus and . . ." Well, that was about all he knew.

"Tiger!" Nanami announced as she pointed to a cluster of stars with a determined gleam in her eyes. "See, it looks just like Tiger!"

Akira blinked, mystified at his sister's words and then tried hard not to laugh. "Nana, you can't name a constellation after our cat."

To which his sister had been confused. "Why not?" She'd asked.

"Well because . . ." Akira had stopped to think. Obviously, there was a very good reason, right? Except not really. People had made the constellations up, so they could make new ones too.

"Then I'm calling that one Gavan!" The ten year old decided as he imagine line connecting the brightest of the stars.

"Then that one is the Goldfish Bowl!" Nanami declared.

"And that one's the Baseball Diamond . . ."

And on and on for what felt like forever but which couldn't have been more than a half hour before they'd been called back inside by their parents to get ready for bed. Laying on a thin guest futon that night, Nanami just an arms length away in her dreams, he'd still been able to see the stars through the window.

The night sky over Albion was clear and still. It was a moonsless night and the stars were out in their thousands, a brilliant whirl that was stunning to the naked eye. To the sharp vision of Shirotaka Akira, the Cait Syth's Shiori, it was a reminder of how very far she was from home. She didn't recognize the constellations, real or imagined.

It didn't matter though. She wasn't here to star gaze. Doubly concealed by the shadows of the eaves and her own [Hollow Body] spell, Shiori watched through eyes of her Mahou body and once more counted the guards standing watch outside the Steward's mansion.

'Three . . . four . . . six . . .'

And these were just the ones she could see from this vantage. There would be more on the sides of the house and along back, and the ones inside as well. A little bird had told her there could be as many as twenty men on watch across the grounds on any given night. Not quite the live in garrison that Governor Barnard had kept, but not shabby either. The Steward had enemies, he probably thought it was prudent to be prepared, more or less.

But Shiori was sure he'd never had any enemies quite like her.

'Hold up a second.' Two more on the balcony, and another on the roof. Shiori's frown was hidden in the shadows of her cloak. The numbers were right, just like that Slime Ball of a Captain had promised. But they weren't where he said they'd be.

If she'd let him lay his hands all over one of her bodies and it was for nothing . . . Mahou Shiori's jaw clenched. Even a bath hadn't washed the feeling of him from her skin, trying to drunkenly undress her even before making it to the safety of a private room. It was an experience kept under control by what it had bought her.

Maybe.

The little birdy had told her lots. As it turned out, the Captain had managed to make Governor Barnard look courageous. At least the Governor had shown the brains and the guts to try and turn the tables.

Of course, Mahou Shiori wrinkled her nose. He could have been lying, but she didn't think so, she hadn't given him much time to come up with any good lies and he hadn't been able to hide how very little love he had for the Steward.

Still, maybe she shouldn't have killed him, not right away. If she'd gotten him good and drunk instead . . . But she knew that was a lie. Despite her cloak, Mahou Shiori shivered. The memories of his caress somehow feeling stronger, like a phantom sensation, along her shoulders, her arms, down her belly . . . In the end he would have . . . and she couldn't . . . she wouldn't. And she hadn't . . .

Never mind

She should have expected something like this. Maybe not exactly this. But the Captain of the watch having an unfortunate accident and taking a 'drunken tumble' from his bedroom window was bound to switch things up a bit. Did she want to push ahead anyways or was it riskier to wait? The longer she waited, the more out of date her information would be.

'Just be careful.' Shiori thought to herself as she crept behind the hedgerows lining the estates perimeter. Her Sword and Dagger selves were in place but Mahou Shiori couldn't see everything from her vantage point.

She was eager this time, this was a good lead, she could feel it. Governor Barnard had just been the first rich and powerful Reconquistador she could get her hands on, but Sir Willheim had something else, prestige, and the trust of Lord Cromwell. He'd know more, she was sure of it, and if not, she'd have to switch tactics.

Alright then, enough of that. She needed to focus more on getting inside and less on what she was going to do when she got there. Mahou Shiori watched the faint ripples of motion that slipped in and out of the darkness. It was hard for her to spot herselves for the guards, on a night like this, it was going to be nearly impossible.

Of course, the guards weren't the only problem, the human ones anyways. One of them prowled into view. It was big, big and sleek, with pointed nose and black tipped ears, tongue lolling long and pink between yellow fangs. A powerful forward body which shrank down to narrow hindquarters, and a long, furry tail that wagged slowly to and fro as it stuck its snout to the ground and sniffed curiously before being tugged lightly be its master.

"Come on Lucius." The commoner watchman grunted as he tugged the dog back towards their station near the front gates. "Oy, come on you bloody great mutt!"

Shiori felt her hackles rise and her tails freeze. Maybe it was her Cait instincts, or maybe it was just knowing the danger posed by the dogs, but she felt the urge to hiss under her breath rising. Illusion magic wasn't going to keep her safe from their noses, not while she was crawling along the ground like this. Flying was out of the question, of course, unless she wanted to announced herself.

Shiori traded a look with herselves, Dagger and Sword Shiori barely more than rippling heatwaves beside one another. Yeah, that wasn't going to happen. Which was why she had spent the last two night preparing her own countermeasures.

Dagger Shiori reached to her belt, and felt for a small fabric pouch, finding it and hefting the contents. Her sinuses were already starting to itch as she scented the sharp bite of spice. If it was doing this to her feline nose, then it would probably be just as good against the canine variety.

Viewing again from afar through Mahou Shiori's eyes, she waited for the first dog and its master to reach their station. There was a second dog and its handler up by the main doors and another by the servant's entrance on the side of the house.

As for the other doors and windows. Well, the first floor was a little too active for her liking, and the second floor was pretty much impossible from the outside, the windows covered in wrought iron grates bolted directly into the vine covered walls. No way to break through those without alerting every guard in the area.

Such a shame too, her gaze lingered on the three tall windows, their curtains drawn so that only the feeble glow of mage lights could be seen from the outside.

That was the Steward's Office. Sir Samuel Willheim was a real night owl it seemed and frequently worked late into the night, alone. So long as Shiori could get inside, she could expect the Governor's own Guards to ensure they were left undisturbed.

As for getting back out. Well, that was the tricky part, and half of why Mahou Shiori was situated where she was. When the time came to escape, she'd be ready.

Meanwhile, the rest of her awaited the signal, and then, when the guards were all safely looking elsewhere, sprung into motion. The wrought iron of the fence was no obstacle at all, both of her barely slowing down as they climb up and over. Both landed as one, coiling down like springs onto all fours and then bouncing back up lightly on the balls of their feet as they took in the gardens from the ground.

Pretty generic actually, almost disappointing, she'd have given the environmental design team a three out of ten. Well manicured hedges and rose bushes lining a crucifix shaped pathway that divided the lawn into four quadrants and lead directly from the front gate to the manor doors.

The air was sweet with the smell of flowering plants, and the steady light of mage lamps at the center of the lawn and at each of the corners cast a fractal web of shadows among the decorative statues and white washed gazebo. Too much open space, too few places to hide. She had to move quickly, scurrying between lines of shadow, before any of the guards noticed anything odd.

Together, Sword and Dagger Shiori moved, sweeping left and right as they advanced, first one, then the other, tiptoeing across paving stones and avoiding the gravel. The grass was the worst, tall enough to see it bend under foot, and dry enough to rustle as she passed. In the end, she managed it, between the oversight of her Mahou self and the careful movements of her Sword and Dagger selves, staying out of direct line of sight.

Reaching the cover of the patio bushes was a relief of its own, even if it was just the start. Next came the door and its attending canine guardian standing diligently beside the human guards. She had a plan for that, sinking deeper into the shadows, Dagger Shiori closed her eyes and opened her palm as she released her stored spell and felt something suddenly gain weight and substance in her hand. Her fingers snapped shut like a trap, receiving a surprised -squeak- from the ball of course gray fur struggling to escape her grip.

Shiori looked at the Ground Tracer, the Ground Tracer looked right back, whiskers twitching as it sniffed her hand. Really, a normal rat might have been a better idea, but she was betting the dogs were used to those and wouldn't be bated. Still, she felt kind of bad doing this to the little guy. He was kind of . . . cute . . . after all.

"Now hold still." She whispered under her breath, shaking some of the contents of the spice pouch out and onto her little decoy, working her hands to rub the stuff deep down into his fur. Here went everything . . .

"Aye, Lieutenant." The dog handler grunted to the slightly better dressed soldier opposite him at the door. "Do you think you'll get your own squad after last night?"

The 'Lieutenant' clasped his hands behind his back, failing to hide a smug grin. "I'd say the chances are likely, Corporal."

"Begging your pardon, hope you keep me in mind, Sir . . ."

Sword Shiori split left, Dagger Shiori and her decoy went right and crept through the bushes, silently, oh so silently, until there backs were to the wall of the house before slowly closing on the door from either side.

Then, when Shiori was as near as she dare, she pointed her little decoy where she wanted him to go, and sent him scurrying though the bushes and right across the patio. The response was immediate, the guard dog's ears perked and he whimpered excitedly as the strong scent crossed his nose. Head turned to and fro in search and the whimpers turned to an excited whine.

Pah-Theh-Tic!

"Aye, what is it boy? Aye! Justice, heel boy, heel!" The handler commanded as he tried to keep a hold on his short leash.

The dog wasn't listening as it chased down the curious scent and its source, the scampering Ground Tracer that had stumbled right into its path. Powerful jaws opened to let out a machine gun of barks and then just as quickly snapped shut about the gray form of the mouse construct as the canine skidded to a halt and then let out a startled -yelp!- and more barks, this time pained and accompanied by whimpers . . . and sneezing.

A vicious attack dog was reduced in an eye blink to a watery eyed mess, pawing at its own snout and only succeeding in working the irritant further into his own nose, lips, and eyes. Of course, he couldn't tell his master that.

"Boy, what is it?" The handler and his fellow guard raced to see what was the matter. "Rat's again eh? You should know by now they bite back. Leav'm to the house terriers you great mutt you."

"Mutt's the word now, init?" The second guard grumbled. "More like bloody eejiot, and here I was thinking it was something . . ."

"Quit you complaining." The handler growled before turning back to his miserable pet. "Hey there, he didn't mean it boy . . . that's a good boy Justice . . . good boy yus you are, yus you are a good boy!"

Shiori didn't stay still long enough to watch anymore. She wasn't sure who was more pathetic, dog or master. Either way, her distraction was working, more or less, and with the door right there and unlocked, it was as easy as creeping by and slipping in under the cover of shadows.

As soon as she was through the door, both of her pressed up closely to the wall and the shelter of the shadows that collected around the bases of tables and between the chairs and sofas. The doorway had deposited them into the manor entry, a great room dominated by a grand staircase rising from its center and then splitting into two tributary flights that fed up to the overlooking balconies. The Steward's offices would be right above her now, so close, but she wouldn't get through unnoticed.

To go up, first she needed to go down.

Arundell, naughty boy that he was, really hadn't been able to keep his nose out of other people's business. Lucky for Shiori, he'd wound up knowing things that the Steward didn't want him to know, and which naturally, the Steward didn't know he knew. Important secrets, secrets that could be the difference between life and death and which a Guard Captain was almost certain to sniff out eventually.

'Which way now?' Shiori searched in two directions at once. She needed down, so that would mean the servant's stairs to the cellar.

Not as hard to find as she would have expected. The Steward's household were as late working as their master. Shiori would have expected most of them to be asleep in their quarters, but instead the maids and valets were still wide awake and preparing for the next day. Keeping unnoticed wasn't so difficult between [Hollow Body] and sticking to the dark corners of the halls and behind curtains. Most of the steward's security was concentrated around his office, the sounding charms, guards, and heavy warding that made the place a black hole and basically impenetrable by the direct root. Mostly.

The thing was, someone like Sir Willheim, someone who had a hand in killing his own predecessor, probably had a healthy degree of suspicion as to how his own replacement might occur one day. So when her little birdy had started spilling his guts after she'd broken his wrist, she'd been especially keen to hear everything he could recall about the Steward's little escape route.

Following a maid from the shadows eventually led Shiori to where she wanted to go, a tightly winding stairway hidden behind a wood paneled door, while the maid headed upward, Shiori descended, following the dank scent from below which guided the way into the cellars.

What she found was almost disappointing, as if she'd been expecting some nefarious dungeon and only found bottles and wine casks instead. But such was reality. Not like anyone was going to keep the torture chambers underneath their own house after all. It wasn't what she was looking for anyways.

No guards down here, but then, there wouldn't be. The steward would want this known to as few of his people as possible. Sword and Dagger Shiori began to widen their search. She knew approximately where it should be, more or less. Arundell had only found it by accident, and once he had, he'd kept it to himself. A human was never going to spot the scuff marks in the dim light cast by a few dingy little oil lamps, and a human was never going to hear the difference as their knuckles rapped against wood and stone until one tap rang -hollow-.

No magic to disguise what it was. Magic would have just told that there was something to hide.

All three of her perked up at once as sword Shiori quietly felt for the seam she knew had to exist. Of course, the pervert hadn't figure out the way to open it from this side, and it was possible there wasn't one. She'd just have to fix that.

[Unseen Moon] hissed free from its sheath, its runes glimmering faintly, tantalizing in the dark as Sword Shiori placed her thumb against the flat of the blade and guided it into the seam with a smallest groaning of wood and then a slow teetering that rose to a . . . -crack-!

The noise couldn't have traveled far, but it still made Shiori jump, and she had to fight the urge not to lose time with both of her looking around. The hidden door opened with a minimum of fuss and groaning of hinges, leading into what should have been a solid stone wall but was in fact something else entirely. Her way in.

Unseen Moon still in hand, dagger Shiori had Nidhogger's Fangs at the ready as she followed her sword self into the gaping blackness, pulling the door not entirely shut as she went.

Shiori mused as she gave her surrounding a quick sweep. Well that does it, I'm definitely not wifi enabled. Underground and surrounded by stone walls. This was exactly the sort of place where Akira's phone would have fried itself trying to get a signal. Shiori had never been more than a couple of miles apart from herselves, but she'd never noticed any deterioration in her senses or consciousness, regardless of distance or obstacles. Then again, like one of her dying, she wasn't exactly eager to test that to its limits either.

There was something else that didn't get mentioned about secret passages. They were cramped. They had to be after all just to fit without being suspicious. Small as she was, Shiori was still forced to turn sideways to squeeze through the gaps and then at last to travel upwards by a steep flight of stairs jammed between supporting beams.

As she climbed, maybe it was her hearing, or maybe this passage had also been meant as a way to spy, whichever it was, faint broken bits of conversation reached her.

"Sir Meinhardt . . . Holland, report!"

"Reporting . . . -ing Sir. Jus . . ."

"Keep your . . . its about . . . lads . . ."

"We will Sir . . . manor is covered . . . oundings and the hounds . . . -thing is getting past us."

"Now maybe if he'd let us . . . watch inside . . ."

"-ose are the Steward's . . . We have him guarded from all sides . . ."

Shiori rolled her eyes. Because of course they did. Well, at least now she knew for sure, the new guy didn't want to look sloppy.

" . . . -ign Trayvor's watching the . . . carry on."

"Sir!"

And she was supposed to be the amateur here. Continuing on to the end of the passage, she stopped at a frame doorway, barely more than an outline in the wall and felt for any sign of a lock mechanism. Finding it, she took a breath, felt for the release and pressed. A muted -click- and the hidden door cracked open on well oiled hinges, giving Shiori just enough space for her sword self to peek out and into the barely lit room beyond.

An office, or maybe a library judging by all the books and the stuffed chairs beside a hearth housing a small fire. Book shelves, a painting that she didn't bother to examine, and then, there he was, all alone at his desk. A small and insignificant looking gray haired man, eyes fixed on the paper before him. A quill was clutched in his left hand, a cup of tea sat under his right. Sir Samuel Willheim, Steward of Saxe Gotha, none the wiser.

He was still non the wiser as she opened the hidden door just enough to slip through, her footsteps masked by the rhythmic ticking of a clock, and still as her rippling, half invisible Sword form slipped across the wall and then up behind him. And then he was made perfectly aware as the lightest touch of cold steel caressed his neck.

The steward froze, his quill stopping in mid sentence, along with his breath, and possibly his heart. Rather disappointingly, he didn't pale or break out in a cold sweat like Shiori had hoped. Instead, he very carefully put his quill down and reclined in his chair, placing his hands on the arm rests.

"So . . . I really was your next target." The Steward looked old and tired. And when he spoke, he looked old and tireder still.

Not . . . what she had been expecting. "You knew?" She breathed the words like an accusation as all three of her tensed up in a ripple of fight or flight reflex. Was this a trap? No. If it was, they'd have sprung it by now. No need to wait for her to sneak in.

"My guards and the dragon Knights suspected at least, after Captain Arundell's _untimely_ demise." The Steward left it unsaid what a euphemism that was. "They thought they'd taken the necessary precautions." His eyes drifted to the partially ajar hidden door. "Though I see they couldn't account for everything."

Sword Shiori chuckled darkly and leaned in close to whisper hot breath in Sir Willheim's ear. "Well maybe if you trusted your guards a little more, we wouldn't be having this conversation, Billy-kun."

"But I guess that's to be expected of a betrayer." Dagger Shiori hissed invisibly in the dark, taking grim satisfaction in the way his eyes widened. "We hate betrayers by the way."

There, that should do it. She wanted him to fear her. She wanted him scared, the way his Guard Captain had been scarred. Shouting, cursing, calling her a demon, a witch. She'd heard them all behind her back before, from people she actually wanted to protect, he'd just had the decency, stupidity, to say them to her face. If she was a 'demon' it was because they feared her, if she was a 'witch' then it meant they thought she had power over them.

Power real power to make a difference. She'd felt her pulses quickening, her chests tightening as she'd straddled him, knowing that she had the power, that she was the one in control.

But the Steward wouldn't give it to her. No curses, no attempt to raise his voice. The small man in his big chair seemed to deflate in a long, low sigh that ended with him hunched over with almost a smile. "I've lived on borrowed time for so long. Tell me, is it strange to say I am relieved?"

Fear me damn it!

"Relieved?" Sword Shiori said out loud.

Dagger Shiori shook her head. "That I'm here to kill you?"

"That my assassin knows a little about me, perhaps." Sir Willheim explained, all while Sword Shiori's blade was still to his throat. "It's the closest I can come in this life to being judged. And selfishly, I would like to beg for that life anyways." He didn't sound terribly afraid, but it wasn't confidence either.

Sure, whatever, Shiori thought, she'd play his game if she could just question him. It wasn't like she had to keep her end of the bargain. Necromancers, patricides, betrayers, and pirates, the Reconquistadors painted themselves easy to hate. "That all depends on how you answer my questions. Now stop wasting time. I know your guards won't be interrupting us."

She hoped, Shiori corrected. As long as they thought Sir Willheim was safe in his little black box, they should have no reason to interrupt him. But there was no guarantee that was still the plan if they thought she might be coming. As if to confirm her suspicions, the stewards eyes leaped to the clock at her back, he licked his lips.

"Your crimes?" Sword Shiori breathed, she could feel herself trembling, all three of her bodies at once. "We don't care about _your_ crimes. This is about Lord Cromwell."

The steward sat a little straighter in his chair whispering a curse under his breath as his left hand reached and was stopped as a razor sharp blade sank deeper into the skin of his throat, drawing a line of blood. "Ah ah." Sword Shiori said. "We're not stupid." Dagger Shiori prowled between the flickering shadows. "If you go for a wand, a weapon, or try to set off an alarm, you die."

Now that the rules were clear, the Steward nodded slowly. "And what business have you with the Good Lord Cromwell?"

"Don't call him that." The two of her said in unison. "That man is neither good nor worthy of being a Lord. He is scum, lower than a betrayer. His crimes against us are unforgivable." Dagger Shiori came around the desk to whisper in his other ear. "Which is why if you want to see tomorrow, you'll tell us everything you know about Lord Cromwell's Necromancer."

Revulsion blossomed across Sir Willheim's face at that very moment. Finally something she could work with. Shiori felt herself growing a little more at ease as the Stewards discomfort. "That's impossible." He whispered. "You accuse him of . . ."

"I don't accuse at all." Shiori cut him off as Sword Shiori grabbed hold of the Steward by his scalp and pressed him erect into the back of his seat, holding him in place like a vice so that he could only look forward.

"I know. Just like you know. And you won't tell me." Dagger Shiori continued. "That's very _rude_."

"So I guess we'll have to ask again. What is the name of the person in Reconquista who is Cromwell's necromancer." Sword Shiori loosened her grip on his scalp, never letting go.

First came the denials. "He would _never_, Cromwell is a pious man. To stoop to such forbidden magic, he would never allow it." The Steward whispered, but in his voice she caught the hint of doubt, a man who was trying to convince himself. The Steward didn't really believe it was all that impossible. He knew something.

"You don't believe that." Sword Shiori said idly. "Don't try to lie. I can tell." Even so, she didn't leave him time to say anything much. "Let me tell you, we know differently. Warriors of our race have faced Lord Cromwell's forces in battle. Some of them fell fortunes of war . . ."

Shiori paused to allow that to think in, and to think on it herself. It wasn't exactly how she felt. It wasn't just the fortunes of war. They were her people, as much as she had anyone to belong to or anyplace to belong, and she had begun to take it personally. "They drew their swords, they knew the possible price." The cat-girl tilted her head slightly sideways and Dagger Shiori continued.

"Except they didn't." Her voice fell to a growl. "Reconquista dragged their bodies away, and then someone sent them back against Asuna-sama who lead them." Sword Shiori shifted her grip and yanked at the Steward's hair. "Against _us_."

"Walking corpses with the faces of friends. Dead and moving anyways and smiling when they tried to cut us." They leaned together closely. "And the one who did it. _We don't like him._" They said venomously as one. "_We'll kill him._"

"We just need to know who." Sword Shiori loosened her grip on his hair. "Who he is? Who stands with him?" She added, and then in one moment of intuition she stopped. The Steward's eyes were shut and his teeth were clenched. "You know something." Sword Shiori said. "Tell me."

"First . . ." The steward swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbed. His voice holding a quiver of fear, _not_ directed at her. "Let me see you."

Shiori blinked. "No . . . Why?"

"Does a man not have the right to look his executioner in the eye?" The Steward's eye cracked open for emphasis. Gray, it was gray. "Besides, I think I would rather like to see a Faerie, if only once."

It was a trick, it had to be a trick. But would it be faster to play along, or to just start beating him until he gave her what she wanted? She was made acutely aware that it might not be her choice, one way or another, if the Guards were on high alert, who knew when those doors might open unexpectedly.

She came to a decision, Sword Shiori kicking the Stewards chair hard so that it faced her and away from Dagger Shiori who took hold of its back. If he tried anything, her Dagger self could plunge her blades into the Steward before he had a chance to speak a word.

He was looking at her now, or at least, he was looking at where she was standing, squinting at the ripples in the air. A whispered chant and [Hollow Body] was dispelled. Shiori tried not to shiver, her Sword Self felt almost naked now. She tilted her head, looking out from beneath her hood at the expression of the Steward. It was amusing, like watching a cornered mouse.

"Surprised?" She wanted to know as she casually brandished split moon. He was looking hard at her now. "No. But I should be. You're . . . a _child_." She fought down her revulsion at the almost _pity_ in his voice.

Shiori snorted, like 'Child' meant anything anymore. Shirotaka Akira had stopped being a child the day he'd lost his sister for two years, and the Cait Syths Shiori had been killing since the day she'd been 'born'. There was nothing 'Childish' about her. Dagger Shiori snickered for both of them as Sword Shiori planted a foot on Sir Willheim's knee and looked into his eyes.

"So then . . ."

"The . . . undead . . . yes." Sir Willheim breathed a small prayer as if the words themselves were sacrilege. And then, what he said next made Shiori's hearts race. "I have seen them. The Dragon Knights searching for you brought them. At least, that is what they must be . . ."

"Must be?" Dagger Shiori said so low, the dangerous kind of low that could erupt into a roar in a heartbeat. "So now you know?"

"They are not like the undead should be. I observed no signs of decay. They seemed most alive to my eyes." The Steward bowed his head. "The Lord Cromwell's stance is that you are constructs created by Tristain and that those in his service have been . . . reconditioned . . . It is how he has _justified_. . ." Sir Willheim fell silent as Shiori pressed her sword beneath his throat.

How cute, she ground her teeth. Reconquista didn't think they were real _people_. When she got out of this miserable place, the first thing she was going to do, Shiori decided, was annihilate everything in her path. But first. "The Zombies. How many?"

"Three that I know of. The Knight Commander didn't want anything to do with them. I can see now why that was . . . They were being directed by a woman. She works directly for Lord Cromwell . . . "

An aid to Lord Cromwell, someone _close_ to him and tasked with directing the undead. The conclusion was as unavoidable as the cold blooded elation Shiori felt at that very moment. She'd found them. _She'd found them!_ She hadn't known for sure how she would feel, until now.

All at once Shiori's feature contorted, muscles growing taut, lips peeling back ,and cheeks going gaunt. Her prey, her _real_ prey was right _here_. Every fiber of Shiori's being sung with anticipation, crying for her to pounce with all her strength, to sink claws and fangs into this _defiler_, and she had to _try_not to bare her teeth as Sword Shiori leaned closer still to the Steward.

_"Tell us who."_

"Sheffield." Sir Willheim whispered. "They call her Lady Sheffield. She is high secretary to Lord Cromwell. I know because she was sent her to attend some matter on behalf of her master. It is said she is of Gall, a minor Noble in her own right, but I have never known a woman of her like from the continent." Sword Shiori tilted her head, listening impatiently.

"Not native Gallian by the look of her. Very pale skin, black hair and eyes. Her eyes . . . Yes, her eyes were like those of your fallen, I noticed that at once."

"_Tell us where_."

"By now . . ." The steward shook his head. "She'd be found in the old Saxe Gotha archives. Beneath the family Mausoleum. It is the only part of the manor to escape the fire . . .That is all the more I know. Now please, that is what you want, is it not? Now go . . . just _go_."

And with that he opened his own eyes again and met Sword Shiori's gaze soberly and perfectly calm. He was terrified, it was just a tranquil terror, like prey that still believe there was hope of escape.

Gray old prey's eyes met the intense green of a young predator in every way aware of the power of her fangs and claws and her ability to kill that very _instant _and so eager to do so.

She felt it again, the synchronized pulsing of her hearts and of her breaths, the rising heat of arousal and sense of _need_ as she poised, all three of her rising on the balls of her feet, tails twisting languidly behind her and sending a sympathetic shiver down her long, arched spines.

But now, the rush of the drug called power was muted, a faint buzz at the forefront of her mind. It lacked the bite of righteousness like with Dorian Barnard and so many others. And without that bite, the high began to fade, her tempers cooling until she could remember more than herself and her_purpose_, the purpose she'd given herself.

The Steward was a lucky, _lucky_ boy, she told herself. She didn't want to spook her real pray. Sword Shiori stood down, pushing light off from the Steward's knee and taking a short step back. "If you're lying, we _know_ where you live. If you kill us, we'll _kill you_. Remember that."

"And if you _aren't_ lying." Dagger Shiori added. "Better not _tell_ anyone that you ever met us."

"Please . . ." He looked to the clock ticking softly over the doors. "Please just _go_."

A swirling cloud of runes surrounded Sword Shiori as she recast [Hollow Body] and rippled away once more into the dark. Only as she was turning away did she notice the Steward sagging and pale from the corner of her eye. If he was lucky, they'd never cross paths again.

And not a moment too soon. The sound of foot steps padding down the hall outside alerted Shiori to visitors. Her pace quickened, taking her back to the hidden panel and slipping silently back inside as the doors nobs began to rattle, someone playing with a key onto the lock turned.

Dagger Shiori stopped just long enough to peek out from the dark, unseen and unsuspected to see just what guest that Steward had.

At first she thought it was simply a guard, a black haired young man in a fancy uniform, well, fancy compared to the rest of the guards. But no, it wasn't a guard.

"Apologies your Stewardship." The boy gestured to his side. "I know you asked to be undisturbed, but she insisted that this time was set aside for her."

A mistress? Shiori mused, it was none of her business anyways, carefully shutting the panel when she heard a second voice, young and soft with a high trill.

"Papa, you promised Papa!" Shiori's heart's stopped all at once. "Papa? What is wrong. You look ill. Are you alright Papa?"

"Sir? Do you need a physician . . ."

Shiori didn't listen to any more, carefully shutting the panel with another soft click of the hidden lock. All three of her were still for a time, the muted words from beyond the door reaching her by the ears of Dagger Shiori and Sword Shiori as they rested their heads against the interior of the wall.

She felt dull and sluggish, drained of the hate that normally kept her wired and sharp edged. Shiori realized that she'd never felt this . . . _tired_.

"Come now Papa, we'll lay you down in bed, and I shall read the story to you tonight! Papa? Wh-why are you crying Papa?"

No. Shiori thought as she resumed. She certainly wouldn't be coming back to this place.


	43. Chapter 10 Part 4: Dark Sorceress

Halkegenia Online v3 - Chapter 10 - Part 4

There was an inescapable observation when visiting a burial place. Simply, the dead were laid to rest as they lived. For a King, a great tomb and a lasting legacy. For a beggar a popper's grave and to quickly pass from memory. This truth held too for the House of Saxe Gotha, as the sun on the horizon heralded the arrival of day, that a decade after the lines extinction their Mausoleum still stood upon the edge of their ancestral holdings, untouched since the last of the family had been laid to rest.

The Steward would have it no other way, telling of the actions of a man who could not escape his past. It was also telling of the legacy of the Lord of Saxe Gotha that a decade safely dead he was still loved broadly and deeply by his subjects. Fresh floral wreaths were laid upon the mausoleum steps, the grounds well-kept, marble walls cared for and unweathered by the years. It was as if the family had only recently passed, tragedy still fresh and the wounds still open.

Would that love endure, Sheffield wondered, if the people knew the reason their Lord had died? Why he and his family had been put to death? Or would their love turn bitter, to denial and then hate? Would they denounce the defenseless dead if they knew?

Sheffield, Lady Sheffield, Void Familiar Myozanatanir, and loyal servant to King Joseph of Gallia, could not say which was which. It was merely an idle thought in any case, a way to pass the time as she followed her servant Isabella deeper into the crypt, guided by the star-bright sliver of a light cast from the tip of the mages wand and flanked by two of her escorts, cloaked so as not to draw attention to themselves as they most certainly would with a single glance at their ears, hair, or eyes.

Their footsteps echoed against the austere walls of the entry corridor descending into the hillside of the old Saxe Gotha estate, their reflected footfalls grew thinner and the ceiling above their heads climbed higher as they entered the heart of the mausoleum, a domed burial chamber twenty mails across, a hemisphere painted by magic with all of the stars in the sky. , lined with the marble headstones of six centuries of the Saxe Gotha Line.

Going back to when the Lords of Saxe Gotha had first risen to their status and power and become trusted retainers to the house of Tudor. How many dozens had been laid to rest here? How many hundreds? And how futile it seemed.

From the corner of her eye, her attention caught on one of the headstones. _Here Lays Matilda de Saxe Gotha, beloved daughter. Taken into the Bosom of the Founder in here tenth year. _Newer than most, its inscription unadorned. But why should there been an inscription at all? There was no one left to mourn here, save the Steward, all others were forbidden at his order to travel beyond the front steps. So why bother at all?

"O God, forgive our living and our dead, those who are present among us and those who are absent, our young and our old, our males and our females. O God, whoever You keep alive, keep him alive in faith, and whoever You cause to die, cause him to die with faith. O God . . ."

Isabella stopped and turned from nearest wall where she had begun to examine the inscription. "Pardon, my Lady? Did you say something?"

"No." Sheffield said quietly. "Merely a passing recollection . . ."

The mage shrugged and turned back to her idle reading of the inscriptions. The Myozanatinir had no doubt that her answer had not satisfied her servant's curiosity, but Isabella was that rarest of things, inquisitive enough to be useful, and wise enough to remain willfully ignorant. It was an invaluable combination, and rarer than most would suspect.

And this time it was no doubt good that she had the sense not to press. Sheffield herself was not certain at once what had compelled her to recall those words which she had learned long ago and by a different name, a soft and gently name which she could recall even now if she cared to.

She did not.

Words, such words she had been taught as a child, beautiful, and sincere, and _meaningless._ So much sacrifice in the service of nothing, just like this place, just like herself . . . Ah yes, that was right, she understood now the source of her unease. She _detested _this place, detested it with every shred of her soul for what it was.

But her discomfort was as nothing to achieve her Master's desires, dwarfed by price in time and treasure. The aid heaped upon Reconquista to create a 'miracle', the overthrow of Albion's reigning line, and that lines near total extermination, all simply to facilitate the search for the Void Artifact of Air.

In the face of what had already been spent, she could be tolerant, for a time. There was promise here, she could sense it. The concentration of magic humming beneath them at that very moment was almost tangible. So much so that she almost wondered how Isabella could not feel it.

A tomb it may have been, but the Mausoleum of the Saxe Gotha Family was also a storehouse of documents and treasures handed down for safekeeping and preserved for over a decade undisturbed by the actions of the Steward. Sheffield remembered she would have to thank Sir Willheim for his diligence.

"Isabella," She said, "Let us set to work quickly. The reliquary."

"As you wish my Lady." Isabella gave the smallest of bows. "Though, I suppose it would be too much to hope the steward has provided a map and key?" The water mage asked with no effort made to hide her dripping sarcasm.

Sheffield paid her snide remark no mind, shrugging off her coat and offering it to one of her hooded escorts. For all its height above the clouds, even Albion's nights were not as biting as those she had known in her homeland, and within the shelter of the mausoleum, she was not terribly uncomfortable with her shoulders bared to the cold. She liked to believe the small discomfort clear her mind. Or perhaps that was her small justification for what she could not escape.

A belt festooned with leather pouches hung from her hips, each compartment holding some instrument or device, some common, and some that even a seasoned mage might not recognize. Sheffield picked one by feel, a simple glass lens attached to an unadorned silver chain, closing her eyes as her consciousness unfolded to encompass all that it was, it's nature, its composition, and how to bend it to her will.

Once, as a child committed to the care of her father, she had been awed by the 'Divine Power' possessed by the Practitioners of the Empire, the miracles that they commanded at will. She had not known then that there was nothing 'miraculous' about them, no more than that the birds could fly or fish breathe water.

But that had been a different time, her head empty and her thoughts as simple as her father had wished them. Now her eyes were opened and she knew more about the secrets of magic than that old monster, coveting divinity, could ever have imagined, more than the Empire's Practitioners or even the King's personal advisers.

The Power of the Myozanatinir, the Faith of the Practitioners of the Continent called her the 'Mind of God', a title never failing to earn her dark amusement when it did not incite her ridicule. There was no God, she'd known that even as an ignorant girl, before her inadvertent rescue, before her enfeebled mind had flourished under the influence of the Void. Or if there was a God, it was a God too weak or too indifferent to intervene in this world. Either was much the same thing.

There was only the concept of God, a word, a meaningless word created by mankind to hide behind and pretend that there was some reason to the misery they exacted upon themselves. She and her master were no different in that regard, merely more honest.

Placing the lens to her eye, the Void Familiar squinted, blinking once, and then again as the world appeared to her as it truly was, the false stars in the false sky above them appearing as ghostly shimmers in blue, sweeping left, Isabella's brow hallowed faintly with a light that did not emanate from her wand, and then to her right . . . the Faeries. Glowing under the influence of the magic that suffused and sustained them, lending life to their dead tissue and constantly fending off the ruin and decay of their corpse flesh.

Sheffield slowly swept the chamber, its walls, its ceiling, and its floor, at last finding what she sought at the very center, set upon a pedestal ringed by a stone bench. It was an impressive mechanism, a disk of polished brass slightly more than a mail across and without any indication of its inner workings. The only ornamentation was a Coat of Arms consisting of a scroll clutched in the talons of an Eagle breathing flames. The crest of the House of Saxe Gotha. Rather unimaginative really, and equally uninspired as a hiding place.

"I've found it." Sheffield said, returning the lens to her belt and proceeding to stand over the plinth and its seal.

Isabella circled the bench, leaning over to examine the embossed coat of arms, running fingers delicately over its surface and stopping at the hooked beak with a tiny frown. "It's a Blood Lock it would seem. Afraid I can't do anything about that." She looked about them irreverently. "I'd say solicit for a donation, but even newest residents are likely to decayed . . ."

"No need." Sheffield answered, allowing herself a faint smile at her servant's confusion. "You may not be able to open this," The Myozanatinir placed her hand atop the Eagle's head, pressing her thumb firmly into the razor sharp edge of the beak, "But I can."

For its age, the beak was sharp, she hadn't sensed the cut until the blood was already welling up, beading hot and vibrant to spill down into the flame filled mouth. Sheffield closed her eyes again and at the first inkling of connection, the runes upon her brow coming to life, she pressed her will upon the artifice, subservient magic unable to resist her.

She felt her body slipping away, mind falling into an abyss of black and stardust, the heart of an ancient and powerful spell that shaped itself before her. Figments of light forming overlapped patterns of geometry and color, the lock and its absent key. Such a seemingly powerful barrier, was as simple to circumvent as reaching out and making the lock fit her own blood instead. When Sheffield did so, the pieces came together at once, merging into a single plane of light that at last shrank to a point and vanished.

"My Lady!"

Sheffield blinked back into the present to find Isabella taking her by the shoulder with a look of mild alarm, quite out of place for her as the floor beneath them began to tremble and then smoothly sank and separated along long forgotten lines. Thin slices of the mausoleum floor descended one by one in a counterclockwise direction to shape the steps of an immense staircase, its landings at the entry to the crypt and twelve mails below at the base of a narrow tower formed by plinth and its seal.

The segment that she and Isabella road came to a halt near the bottom, depositing them before a simple door marked against with the Seal of the Saxe Gotha family beneath the more prominent twin headed dragon clutching a staff and orb in its talons, the family crest of the House of Tudor.

Sheffield allowed herself to hope if only briefly, that this might be the one. That the reliquary baring the mark of Royalty would have been a promising sign not long ago, but far too many false leads had stolen hope from her before. In her search, the Myozanatinir had been forced to relearn patience and develop an appetite for disappointment.

Albion was, after all, known for its reliquaries, more so than Gallia and only marginally less so than Romalia. Its untouchable position in war and long rule by the iron fist of one Royal Line or another all but guaranteeing a history of collecting plunder from the Continent and retaining it until living memory slipped into legend and the great and terrible creations of a generation became fodder for stories told among children or studied as myth by academics.

Aside from its unassailable position demanding any war of conquest come from within, the need for the fall to come swiftly in order to prevent the use of the contents of the vaults had been essential to Sheffield and her Master's plans. If those treasure could then be turned to serve their purposes then all the better.

Sheffield had hoped, briefly in the wake of the siege of Newcastle, that acquiring the knowledge held by King James would hasten her search of his fallen Kingdom to its conclusion. However, that hope had been distantly misplace. The King had been as spiteful in death as he had ever been in life and had made every effort to take his family's secrets to the grave with him.

In the case of the location of the 'Music Box', as with many other treasure and ancient weapons lost to history, this had been accomplished by the simple expedient of not _knowing_. The Tudor's had gone to great lengths not only to secure power to themselves over the course of their reign, but to also deny it to their enemies. Many of those ancient treasures, the pinnacle creations of their generation, would have been as dangerous to the rulers of Albion as to their enemies.

The location of some of the vaults, buried deep and almost forgotten, had been recorded in code with no single member of the Royal House retaining the complete cypher. Others had been entrusted to the most Loyal Families such as the House of Saxe Gotha to be kept safe within their own reliquaries.

And yet more had been raided in the last months of the war, their contents either used up in desperate attempts to turn the tide, or hidden elsewhere by the dwindling Royalist forces. These last storehouses, also the best known to King James, had housed those items and weapons which were simultaneously the most practical and least remarkable.

Golem War Horses, Wind Shrouds, masterfully crafted war foci, and valuable reagents and strategic resources preserved under powerful permanence spells and the influence of their own enchanting magic. The spoils of war sufficient to equip a small army had been mostly given over to Lord Cromwell to do with as he pleased, which was chiefly bolstering the strength of his personal regiments or dolling them out as 'Generous Gifts' to his political allies.

Aside from these stocks of war materials, there had been a few more esoteric grimoirs of water and wind magic which Sheffield had quietly kept for her own use, a precious few items that she had believed her master might find some hollow shadow of amusement in acquiring, and a handful of truly valuable finds, almost overlooked by the Albionian mages who had long forgotten their creation and workings. Creations she had vowed to restore on behalf of Reconquista, all the while carefully documenting and relaying what she learned back to her King.

The ancient weapons had been half ruined by decay, and at least in the case of one, it most essential elements had degraded completely over the course of three thousand years, the Heel Stone so carefully recovered by Governor Barnard rendered into nothing more than inert rock by the ages. The power of Mind of God allowed her to derive the functions of magical artifice but, that was contingent on the artifact itself being complete, if not necessarily undamaged. Nevertheless, she was confident that she would be able to bridge the gap with the help of the mages Lord Cromwell had supplied her and at least provide_something_of use by the ordained time.

But as for the more tantalizing artifacts told of in the legends, those that might have some grain of truth to their tale. The Seventy Companies of Seventy Golden Knights, the Garden of the Tree of Knowledge, the Sword of Grarhauss, the First Ship _Hringhorni. _If they existed now, if they had ever existed, than they were lost even to those who had hidden them.

Sheffield lamented this on a personal level, as even a legend exaggerated, there was a certain artistic beauty in the creations of Master Practitioners.

Much more however, she was growing tired of this fruitless search for the Music Box, tempered only by the promise of old scripture and study of her master's Censer that given time, the Founder's Treasures_always_ made themselves found. Often, like the rumored Void Mage, at the most tumultuous of times.

"So shall I go first?" Isabella recovered quickly from her initial surprise. "Or would you prefer to do the honors, My Lady?"

"I would much rather neither." Sheffield said. Her lens didn't see anything innately magical about the door itself, but she couldn't say as much for what lay beyond.

She had no intention of needlessly risking her own life or that of a useful subordinate. That was what her escorts were for. Sheffield looked up to the top landing. The reanimated Faeries had assumed the worst and taken guarding positions to protect their escape route. Now that the danger had passed, both had begun to look about, inching closer to the edge of the landing to confirm that their charges were still safe.

"Miss Aki." Sheffield called to one of the hooded guards. "Would you please be of use and come open this door? I would like you to examine what is on the other side for us."

Although it might not have appeared so, there was a reason that Sheffield had called for the Faerie by name. Half of that reason was the fact it was a name she could recall. The other half was what made that name so memorable. This one was Cromwell's favorite, for some reason, kept close to him almost as a pet which he would frequently seem to faun over as one would a favored child. Sheffield could only assume it was the Faeries disposition as a result of the order given by the, she suspected, mildly deranged Leader of Reconquista.

'Be Happy.' Two simple words that had done . . . _this_ to one of the reanimated.

Sheffield did not know whether to be more surprised that the reanimated Faerie had so dutifully attempted to obey and indeed sometimes successfully feign exuberance or that Cromwell had deemed to give the order in the first place. It had intrigued the Myozanatinir, at least as the seed of an idea, and so she had not complained when Aki had been entrusted to her, nor particularly upset by her eccentricities.

As for Isabella, the Water Mage was far from ill at ease given her own mastery of the darker reaches of her affinities.

The expectation would have been for immediate and _silent _obedience to the command. The reanimated Faerie, while immediately obedient, was far from silent, raising a hand in a sharp martial salute. "Aye aye Sheffield-sama!" She declared before joining her and Isabella by the simple expedient of walking off the top landing and dropping twelve mails to the floor below with a solid -thud- as she absorbed the impact of her landing.

Aki turned her attention to the door at her side. "Ooh woooow! Secret door!" Speaking with exaggerated voice and motions. It was very much akin to watching an Alvis Doll performing a play or perhaps the acting of a child. "You better stand back Sheffield-sama, Izzy-chan! Don't want you to get hurt!"

"Lovely." Isabella whispered under her breath. "Do you hear that, she doesn't want us to get _hurt_." Sarcasm, but sarcasm joined with a healthy desire to go on breathing. Both women made sure that they were standing well clear as the Faerie grabbed hold of the door handle with both hands and committed her considerable strength in order to pull.

The door creaked, dust falling from its frame, the un-oiled hinges seized and squealed. Wrenched open a quarter of an inch, then half with a whining protest of metal, then a bang that was so akin to a cannon shot that the first thought of both women was to clasp hands over their ears as the door jumped open on its hinges and a banshee's wale of air escaped in the span of a heartbeat to send Aki ricocheting back into the crypt wall where she struck with a solid fleshy -thud- and bounced off before crashing to the ground in a heap.

"Miss Aki?" Sheffield asked, not particularly worried for the girl's well-being. The Fae appeared to be particularly good vessels for the lesser spirits created from Ring of Andvari and demonstrated an impressive capability to take advantage of their innate regeneration . . . among other side-affects.

Point in fact, the Faerie released a cough joined by an unpleasant -cracking- noise as her ribs reset and then spoke another of her nonsensical phrases, either misinterpreted gibberish from the remnant memory or some quirk of the Spirits. "Wow. Fus ro _da_!" Sheffield paid little mind to it in any case. It was enough that she had suffered no permanent damage.

Perhaps it was due to the artificial nature of their bodies that they were already made more receptive to binding a new consciousness. But that was mere speculation on Sheffield's part, designed or not, the Faeries and other creatures of ALfheim were living beings and beyond the domain of her power to examine or influence directly.

_Indirectly_ however, the Myozanatinir had found a great deal to pique her interest and even to inspire her future research, if she could simply secure a supply . . . Difficult, but necessary if she were to accomplish her master's goals.

The Faeries were a factor that she had catastrophically, admittedly understandably, failed to predict. Already they had interfered in the execution of her master's plans more than once. It would only be a matter of time before she was instructed to deal with them and she had moved to preempt that inevitable command by being fully prepared when it was given.

For now, however, her goal lay directly before here, approaching the disarmed wind-trap only when Isabella had completed a sweep with her wand and judged the passageway safe. A last ditch trap no doubt, one that would trigger against anyone standing before the door. Simple, but effective, and now spent as she followed Isabella inside, the Faerie Aki dusting herself off behind them.

They traveled down into winding hall that took them further beneath the burial chamber, letting out atop the landing of a vaulted space lit only by Isabella's mage light and the feeble glimmering of long exhausted lanterns hanging by their dozens from walls an chandeliers, far too little to banish the encompassing gloom.

"Hmm . . . It looks like someone should tell poor Sir Willheim that his vault has been cleaned out from under his nose." Isabella yawned as she to swept the room for any sign of threat. "No gold, no jewels, not even a fire breathing drake to bar the way, quite disappointing I should say."

"No." Sheffield shook her head. "Everything is where it should be. If you were to case detect magic as the floor Please?"

On first inspection, it would have appeared as if Isabella was right, the chamber seemed empty, only a plinth mirroring the one above at the center of a circular chamber, the floor marked by lines forming a concentric maze, like a labyrinth viewed from above. There was no effort here to make the space beautiful or in any way add to what it was. There was something about that which Sheffield found immensely reassuring as she took another flight of steps down to the floor below. Unlike the tomb which hid it. This place wasn't pretending to be anything.

"Oh?" The dark haired mage mused as she pressed together her ruby painted lips.

"Yes." Sheffield nodded, congratulating herself on the look of confusion and surprise that came over the perennially irreverent woman.

"Ah . . . I see."

"Exactly."

Yet one more layer of defense and inconvenience. The Saxe Gotha house had learned from the very best after all. Why should one barrier be the last line of defense when two or three would do?

"I suppose this is another Blood Lock then." Isabella waved to the seal, this time barring the Tudor crest and a clearly marked edge to the beak of one of the dragons where the sacrifice was to be made. "I have to say. Whatever it is that you do, My Lady . . . It is quite the worrying talent."

"Hmm?" The Myozinatinir thought idly and then let the thought slide aside. "Perhaps then . . . Perhaps it is a sign of weakness."

"Oh?" The cold reptilian blink of Isabella at her most ruthlessly inquisitive.

"Too often it seems those with the gift for magic never learn to use it." Sheffield explained. "Magic becomes the solution to everything. Why should one bow to natural law when it can be changed by force of will? There is no reason why one sort of thinking cannot compliment the other."

"Your point, My Lady?"

"If they wanted to inconvenience me." Sheffield squeezed at her still oozing thumb, letting the drops fall into the dragon's waiting mouth. "They should have added a damned tumbler lock." Again she willed the lock to obey her and again she felt her changes take hold. The floor around them rippled, like the surface of a placid pond struck by an expertly skipped stone.

There was no grinding of tone, no movement of stone against stone, the sound, if anything, was more like that flowing water, rising up from the floor in ranks and rows surrounding the Familiar, the Mage, and their Faerie escort. Shelves of stone flowing and taking shape, releasing their coveted treasures for the first time in decades. Rising higher and higher until they reach half way to the sealing above and only then came to a stop as smoothly and silently as they had begun.

"Powerful Earth magic." Isabella muttered, first cautiously approaching the nearest shelf and then casually running a finger across the surface, her fingertip coming back spotless. "Are you sure you wouldn't have preferred Chadric for this. The dear is a much more knowledgeable dirt digger than I."

"I prefer he keep me abreast of Cromwell's doing." Sheffield answered. "You partner is quite the charmer I've noticed."

"A trait he is too happy to point out, yes." Isabella rolled her eyes. "I suppose I could be saddled with worse, of course . . . So, shall we begin? I do wish you would tell me what exactly we're looking for."

Sheffield thought about it, decided it was of no concern, and shrugged. "A music box."

"Music box?"

Aki perked up at the very mention. "Ooh, what does it play, Sheffield-sama?"

"If we're lucky." Sheffield closed her eyes. "Nothing at all. It should be broken." Or rather, not broken, but impossible to be heard by anyone but its rightful master. The Founder's Music Box, Void Treasure of Albion.

"We came all the way here to hunt for a Broken Music Box?" Isabella questioned.

"Is that a problem?" And again Sheffield was given the pleasure of seeing an eminently skilled Mage grasping at straws.

"Not a problem per se." Isabella answered with the smallest of snorts. "You've paid for my time either way. Though," She eyed the shelves, which could not help but rise to intimidating heights before them, "I'm not sure you have paid for this _much_ of my time."

The store room was easily as large as the burial chamber above it, some twenty mails across and circular with cases and shelves rising four or five mails high and lined with cabinets, glass panels, and strong boxes filled with every sort of artifact and reagent. Most detection magic would elicit a response from the Void, so it was very much akin to hiding a needle in a stack of needles.

Which was not nearly so great a problem now that Sheffield had anticipated it. Another pouch on her belt was opened and she extracted a small silver box, undoing the elegant clasp of its lid to reveal its contents to the air.

When Isabella looked closely, she wrinkled her nose and gave a displeased noise. "Glow flies? Or . . . no . . . are they Golems?"

Golems in the shape of insects, small bodies of glass, wings of foil, and legs of bent wire. "Alvis to be exact. I had them created specially to find what we're searching for." Based on what she had been able to glean from her Master's Censer, she was confident her creations would be able to detect any trace of Void which happened to be in this place, no matter how masked by the pall of magic in this place, cloying like perfume.

The Myozanitinir leaned over the contents of the box, and blew softly, watching as the Alvis stirred, their foil wings fluttering in the feeble light and then beginning to take light to the air, bodies lighting from within as they drifting on the currents and began to one by one touch upon the shelves and their contents.

They had only to wait, if the Alvis found anything it would be apparent at once when the whole swarm gathered and glowed. As they searched, Sheffield occupied herself with the nearest shelves, examining the items, brushing her fingers across those that showed promise and reading their deepest secrets. A scrying sphere hidden in an amulet. A staff enchanted to perform a single square level spell of when supplied with magic. A pool of quicksilver the size of her fist, heavily enchanted and mixed with a fine suspension of Earth Stones, a Golem in its own right created for assassination. Ranks of enchanted swords and armor, enough to arm a Squadron of Knights.

And then reagents. Rare ingredient after rare ingredient, some of which would have been difficult even for her master to obtain. The extract of Bugbear's eye. Preserved lifeblood-blood of an Abyssal Squid. Fused Silicate rock containing a Fire Spirit's fragment . . .

Isabella had stopped at one such artifact. A piece of what looked to be gray leather. But the gleam in the mage's eyes proved how wrong that was. "A Rhyme Dragon's scale." The way she said it, there was an unspoken promise of what she could _do_ with such a thing. Sheffield could already imagine well enough. Rhyme Dragons had possessed life spans of thousands of years, only growing larger and stronger until the day they died. That reputation had doomed them as their bodies had become coveted by all seeking to achieve the coveted prize of immortality.

Whether Rhyme Dragon Reagents could really give eternal life Sheffield couldn't say, her own studies had been inconclusive. The fact that there were no immortals to speak of suggested rather not however. What they _could_ do, the Myozinatinir was certain, was stabilize the fragile flesh of the living Golem's known as Skirni. She could see easily why this interested her servant.

But it was not to be, not this day. "We are not here for such a small prize Isabella." Sheffield advised. "If you wish to have it for your work, we shall have it arranged to be transported back to Londinium." In fact, it might be well if they requested a few items form the reliquary, to ease Sir Willheim's suspicions if nothing else. "For now, we are here only for the Music box."

Even so, Sheffield's hand stopped once more. This time resting upon a smooth ivory hilt. The handle of a dagger which happened to fit her hand perfectly. A small think thing, perhaps a third of a mail in length and weighted to be handled easily by a skilled wielder.

"You never have told me." Isabella said as she paced, brushing aside a few of the Alvis crawling across the spine of an old Grimoir. "What do you have to gain from all of this. Reconquista that is . . ."

"Hmmm." The Myozanatinir was surprised Isabella would ask within earshot Aki. The reanimated Faerie was certain to relay anything which she heard back to her master after all. Then again, such idle small talk, kept vague could do no harm and a great deal to set a man like Cromwell well at ease.

"You see, Chadrick and I are in it for the money. A great deal of money." True, but left unspoken was that they were also long time retainers of King Joseph of Gallia. Her master had constant need of exceptional servants, some of whom could be trusted with parts of his greater plan.

"As for you . . . Is it business or personal? I wonder . . ." This time, an actual question. And perhaps because she did not have to answer it entirely, Sheffield allowed herself to contemplate what had been asked. " . . . You don't seem terribly invested is all . . . And not because you share Lord Cromwell's confidence."

No, not at all. Sheffield had been as surprised as anyone at the success that their plans had been met with. Even with every ounce of aid she had been able to arrange, Reconquista had come very near to collapsing in those early months. She had not accounted for Cromwell, with all his bumbling, actually possessing some small aptitude for surviving assassinations and a modicum of political ability. Enough to keep Reconquista united and directed at a single goal, and to change that goal subtly whenever circumstance dictated.

But most of all, she had not expected Chadrick and Isabella to succeed so magnificently in turning the Baron of Adaline to Cromwell's side. The assassination of Prince Lionel had, at best, been aimed to sew confusion and distrust in the Royalist ranks and buy time while the free companies were consolidated. She had drastically underestimated just how close to the breaking point King James had already been.

Even her master had been, if not happy, then at least intrigued by the tragedy, in the way that one might be intrigued by watching ants taking apart a still living grasshopper. Mary Adaline, still grieving for her husband, had been dressed in rags, her golden hair shaved from her head, and marched out to be beheaded at the pleasure of the King. The people of Londinium had feared, and so they had cheered, but mere months later, their King had fled and the swelling Army of Reconquista had flown its flags from atop every bridge and tower.

The interest had not lasted of course. It never did once her master had decided that whatever he was observing had failed to insight in him the crucial piece of himself that was ever out of his reach.

That was it. "Yes. It's a personal matter." Sheffield only felt safe to say as she could expect to be asked for no details. She did not care if Isabella knew this much.

Because she knew better than most. Just like this place, she was a beautiful empty vessel conceived in service to God . . . Sajidah . . . that was the name that had been spoken softly to her when she was small in a gentle voice by a woman who she could only vaguely remember before father had taken her to be made ready.

She had needed to be perfected, it was reasoned, like the girls that had come before her and the girls who would follow. There was too much of herself and not enough room in her heart for God. She needed to be pared away by worship, and privation, and submission. She had been taught to pray. Praying as she fasted, praying as she was subjected to the elements, and as she was lashed for her latest imperfection.

Praying as she went numb, as she forgot more and more of that gentle life held in the arms of her mother, the life that the priests said was unbecoming of one devoted to God. Praying that she had finally given enough of herself, that God would enter her and the pain would _end_. She had almost been able to believe it, for a while.

But she'd known always that it wasn't true, deep down, and eventually, when she had found herself with nothing, she'd realized that no loving God would have made this her trial. That was when the girl who had been taken by her father to be made a Perfect Vessel for God had realized the truth, and that was when she had truly despaired. The pain she had endured for so long had become unbearable. The nights of prayer no longer gave her comfort. She had been told so many times how lovely she was, how beautiful she was becoming. That praise had turned bitter and cruel.

What was more bitter and more cruel was that the man who saved her from that . . . _hell_ . . . that mankind had made for himself . . . was already perfect in every way that her father had wanted. King Joseph of Gallia was void itself. Where Sheffield bore the scars where she had attempted to excise her humanity, his had been absent to begin with.

And yet, he had been so very _humane_ to her.

Her master was cold, and calculating, given to acting out violently, even lethally at times. But always with clear reason that could be pointed to. He had not treated her cruelly. He did not bother with cruelty if he believed it would achieve nothing. And when he was cruel, he did not excuse himself by vowing faith in God.

She had not known what to make of him.

She was to be his familiar. His lifelong servant. Very well, she had been meant for God, but if God did not exist, than another master would do. As an empty vessel, she had received all that he had given to her. The power of void, her education, and title. Sheffield had been created from these things where before there had been only an empty shell of a girl.

She'd thought, slowly, that she was in love with him.

She understood him, a little, so _very_ little, but still, she understood. She understood the empty shell that he was, and her heart ached that she could do nothing for him. No word or vow from her lips had ever stirred him, nor her company ever pleased him, nor had it ever incited his anger, even when she had offered her love, even when she had tried to give her body.

She was an empty shell, and yet she _longed_ to be filled with her master's love. But if not that . . . she would settle for his rage.

"A very personal matter." Sheffield repeated quietly. "Is that all?"

The water mage returned the grimoir text she had been studying to the shelf and pointed to the dagger still in her hand." And might I ask if there is any particular history to that?"

The dagger?

"Nothing in particular." The Myozinatinir said, feeling an innate understanding of the enchantments of the weapon in her hand. "It appears to be enchanted with a Scrying Spell . . . "

"And when it glows blue like that?" Isabella nodded to the bare sliver of blade steel protruding from the scabbard which was illuminated seemingly by a light of its own.

"That would mean simply that it senses its wielder is in imminent danger." Yes, that was exactly right . . . Sheffield's eyes widened as they met Isabella's gaze, the water mage calm as ever as she raised her wand in a ready guard.

With only a nod between the two, Sheffield turned and planted a hand on the plinth seal, at once, the reliquary's maze of shelves receded safely into the floor once again, leaving the room empty, but certainly_not _empty, Sheffield squeezed the hilt of the weapon harder, but to no affect. The Dagger could only sense malicious intent, that alone was ancient and powerful magic, to do more was beyond it.

There was someone, someone very close that wanted her dead, she focused on the doorway, on the steps leading down from the wall landing, the only way into the room.

At first she saw nothing. Then, it was like a spot appearing in her vision, a blur that was painful to stare at for long, a ripple in the dark that made her sick to look at it, demanding that she turn her eyes elsewhere. And then . . .

"Darn."

The voice was small and high and girlish, not at all what would have been expected as she shaped resolved itself, blankness oozing into being as a black hooded girl . . . a girl like a cat. In fact, as if a cat had decided it was going to be a young girl, black ears and all. Sheffield was surprised when she realized that she was shivering, and then jumped again at a voice that appeared from her right, already on the chamber floor with them.

"Looks like my sneaking skill could use some work." This one too, cat eared and cat tailed, her green eyes seeming to glow with hate.

And then to her left. "Guess Alicia-sama isn't the only one with good eyes and ears." Not just similar, identical, triplets?

The one standing atop the landing tossed something from her vantage to bounce along the ground. A head. A severed Faerie head of the brown haired Faerie Youth that had been one of Cromwell's reanimated, mouth still opening and closing in a dutiful effort to cry out a warning. The futile action was not allowed go on for long as bolt of fire erupted from the Cait Syth's hand, incinerating the head in a flowering of red flame.

"So how about we make this quick . . ." The Cait growled, her voice injected with a trace of something feral.

Together, like one voice speaking from three mouths. "_How about you tell use which one of you is Cromwell's Necromancer?_"

The question hung unanswered in the air, but it needed no answer as Isabella put herself between the ones to the left and the center. "My Lady!"

Three pairs of ears twitched. "_That's all we need to know!_" And three slight forms erupted as one.

* * *

><p>Shiori had known, from the second she laid eyes on the woman that she had found her prey. She'd feared the Necromancer would be difficult to spot, but Shiori had been pleasantly mistaken. 'Lady Sheffield' practically oozed Seductive Necromancer Sorceress right out of her pores. Her shoulder and leg baring dress not doing much to help on that front, nor the facial markings, paint or tattoos, which ran beneath her eyes like arcane glyphs.<p>

She was just too stereotypical. The Cait could have picked her out of a lineup. And given the two Zombies she'd already dispatched bearing Faerie ears it seemed safe to judge the book by its cover. The way the other woman had moved to shield her just now had simply sealed the deal.

"My Lady!" That was it.

Shiori's blood had been heating since she'd slipped back out of the Steward's Mansion, heating to a boil that her three small bodies couldn't contain. Shiori had thought about stopping, about letting herself breathe, and_think_. She hadn't been able to stop herself. It was an impatience she couldn't sate or explain away. And so she had thrown herself into her boiling blood, the rush of short breaths, and the thundering of her heartbeats, that wonderful drug singing in her veins.

The pesky fragments of Shirotaka Akira had been pushed roughly aside by the rest of her, muted almost to nothing as Shiori eagerly unshackled herself from his weakness, she didn't want to hear what he had to say.

Why should she care? He couldn't even protect Nanami. That's why he'd created her, wasn't it?

A tension had grown in her frames, an arch to her spines, and a taut spring to her stride as she stepped upon the balls of her feet, tails trembling as the muscles of her back wound them tight. She wanted this. She _wanted_this so badly. Not simply for Shirotaka Akira's sense of decency, she wanted this for _herself_ as Shiori, to justify what she was and what she had done. And with that, she had been able to act with undiminished focus.

Shiori barred her fangs, ears flush with her skulls. "_That's all we needed to know_." Legs gathering beneath her, all three of her had burst forward like gunshots her fields of vision collapsing in until only her prey remained.

The mage woman was already whipping her wand about in some arcane spellworks. A last ditch defense that wasn't going to do her a scrap of good as Dagger Shiori released Black Onyx Mirror, catching the tongue of flame in a flashing panel of light and reflecting it right back at its creator.

Sheffield!

This woman, growing closer with every heartbeat. The Zombie, the last one was moving to try and stop her. Shiori wouldn't give it the chance.

Half the distance covered.

This woman, who had taken away the lives of Lady Asuna's friends and allies. The magician in the corner of her fields of vision was batting aside the reflected flame,

Two thirds.

This _woman_, threatening the only thing Shiori had left to cling to. The look on that face was going to be etched into Shiori's memory forever. The weirdest thing was that she didn't look scared. There hadn't been enough time for Sheffield to even begin to register fear. She just looked . . . _surprised_.

Shiori was right on top of her, the Necromancer stumbling back pawing at a pouch on her belt as she tried to put some, _any_, distance between herself and the avenging spirit who had made it their purpose to slay her.

Three mouths shouted as one, a noise like a cat's scream rising into a gravely hiss. Sword Shiori flourished Unseen Moon like a baton, and like an executioners blade. 'You die here!' And then striking home like a sledge . . . only to clash metal against metal, Faerie blade against Faerie blade flashing and then locking at the hilt.

"Not so fast bad guys!" An eerily childish voice emanated from beneath the hood of the cloaked figure barring her way.

The Zombie had moved faster than Shiori expected. Getting the drop on the other two and taking them down so swiftly had made her overconfident, more or less. She wouldn't let that mistake stop her now.

The mage had deflected her own returned spell and was turning fast for Shiori, Sheffield had put a precious few more steps between them, and the Zombie's cloak had slipped down, just enough to see a few strands of brown hair shot through with stains of silver blue and brown eyes ringed with a blue corruption.

"Got you!" The zombie smiled in a mockery of delight.

Sword Shiori hissed. "That's my line."

"Huh?"

"Grraaah!"

Mahou Shioiri broke right, chanting fast, while Dagger Shiori came around from the left of her Sword self, threading behind the back of the undead and towards the Necromancer. She held Nidhogger's Fangs at the ready and performed a well-placed double slash for the shoulder and small of the back. Her daggers bit into warm, wet flesh, disturbingly vibrant blood spraying as she sliced muscle and connective tissue and bit into bone with a -crunch- that ended only as she tore the blades loose once more.

"Waaah?!" The Zombie had only a heartbeat to cry out in surprise as her body suddenly buckled. Her sword arm fell lifelessly, the rest of her beginning to sway unsteady thanks to the severed vertebrate. It was like her wires had been cut. The Zombies were tough, insanely tough, but they still needed their bodies mostly intact, this one was no different.

Reaching out, sword Shiori took the zombie by the back of its neck, fingers sinking into the bloody, shredded mess as she used the handhold to swing the undead to the floor like a doll. The zombie, glared at Sword Shiori with something almost sparking in her eyes, maybe it was the hate of whatever hideous little thing was controlling this body from within, hate that she was going to destroy it. Shiori shrugged, and then she _pulled_with all of her might.

"You'll never get away with thi . . ." The vow was cut off half said, the zombie's eyes going wide as the remaining skin and muscle stretched, trembled, and was then sliced by Unseen Moon, head snapping away messily in a spray of bright red blood. Sword Shiori lost her grip as the head bounced free. Sans vocal cords it wasn't going to be making much noise. Just like the rest of it wasn't going to be putting up much of a fight anytime soon as she kicked the blindly flailing body in the ribs and chopped off its sword hand for good measure. She'd put it out of her misery once she'd finished with its creator.

"Sheffield!" Sword Shiori barked as she followed in dagger Shiori's wake.

Mahou Shiori squared off against the magician, a shroud of runes gathering around her as she opened with a hail of rapid fire flame bolts, trying to break the woman's concentration and get through her guard. Each softball sized projectile was ducked, dodged, or otherwise turned aside at the last moment, but it forcing the woman back, away from her master.

Dagger Shiori was the closer of her two melee selves, closing the distance in the space of a blink, again almost on top of her prey when Sheffield finally managed to pull the talisman she'd been searching for from its pouch hold it before her. Something caused Shiori's ears to flatten, and instinctive intuition to protect herself causing her to tense up, cross her arms over her chest, and tuck in her chin just as she was met by a burst of wind. She was hit like a diver hitting a pool full of wet concrete, the air slapped her breathless, a concussion reverberating through her body as her forward advance was thrown backwards into the waiting arms of Sword Shiori.

Her Sword self caught her with a shared -ooph- their forward moment turned into a backward skid as Sheffield reached her goal, the podium at the center of the room. No sooner had she pressed a hand to its surface then Shiori knew that nothing good could possibly be in the works.

Unfortunately, she was right.

The ground beneath their feet began to shake, began to ripple and part and flow like dry water, taking shape into unblemished planes and sharp edges that erupted upwards, sometimes beneath Shiori's own feet as she danced nimbly to get out of the way. The shelves that Sheffield had only just dismissed were rising back out of the floor. The storeroom becoming a maze between her and the Necromancer. And worse, Shiori grabbed Sword Shiori with Dagger Shiori and pulled her out of the way as two of the shelves rearranged themselves, slamming together in a collision that would have reduced anyone, Faerie or not, to strawberry goo.

'Too close!' Shiori thought, and with that her temper beginning to come again to a boil. She was getting sick of this.

When the next pillar erupted from the ground, taking flowing shape, Sword Shiori was ready, sinking her grip into any foothold that could be had. Her Dagger self followed with a short wall run and kick off that landed her almost perfectly atop a rising pillar of solidifying granite that came to overlook the entire chamber.

One sweep through the eyes of her dagger body was all Shiori needed. It was a mess.

Some sort of Earth Magic maybe? Whatever it was that allowed the floor to change its shape like living clay, Sheffield had sent it haywire. Or more likely, as Dagger Shiori deftly sidestepped off of her perch as it rocketed for the ceiling above, the Necromancer was making a very deliberate effort to _kill_ her with the room. Creative if nothing else, Shiori thought.

Sword Shiori was hunched down on all fours, spine arched and tail up for balance. Her features were gaunt now, fully taken over by her Cait concentration. She took a running jump, gabbing onto the next shelf top and vaulting to another as it began to sink, the walls to either side closing in to crush her.

"_Sheffield_ . . ." She growled with her Sword self's mouth. Slipping and dodging, and slowly, inexorably, continuing through the desperate cascade of moving barriers growing ever more frantic as she neared its heart.

Dagger Shiori held back, moving deftly atop the outer tier of shelves as they counter rotated, forever trying to keep her from joining with her Mahou body on the far side of the room. At least she had an unobstructed view of her other selves, using the vantage that Dagger Shiori enjoyed to keep Sword and Mahou Shiori abreast of their ever changing surroundings.

Mahou Shiori had pressed the mage steadily back towards the wall, the Halkegenian woman resorting to a shield of conjured water to keep the barrage of small, hot flames at bay. Shiori decided to shift her tactics, twisting aside and twirling her Nameless Staff as she just managed to duck out of the way of another closing shelf, feeling a sharp pain as it pinched a few hairs from the tip of her tail.

Something sped past her cheek, small, and sharp, slicing the skin, and drawing a feral hiss as the Faerie focused her attention briefly on the shell of water and the miniscule darts that were shooting from its surface, freezing into razor shards in flight. Another shattered against the stone shelf behind her, while yet another would have pierced her arm if she hadn't gotten out of the way.

Keeping up her dodging and not dying to the ever changing environment act, Mahou Shiori threw out a dispel when the next gap opened between herself and the mage. A ring of smoky white light expanding from the palm of her hand, stretched out to encompass the mage's water shell, and then . . . for a moment . . . the shell half fell from the air before renewing itself once more, never more than a heartbeat gap, too small for just one Shiori to take advantage of.

Shit! Still, it had been worth a try.

Failure didn't slow Shiori down as her chants built again, runes gathering down the length of her staff and then concentrating into a single point.

The trick to fighting a mage was that, barring some rapid fire spells, and some of the highest tier speed casters, people who Shiori couldn't match just yet, if ever, a Faerie wasn't going to be able to beat a Halk Mage at recasting. That went double for powerful magic like Dispellation or AOE spells, not that she would have been stupid enough to set off an AOE Explosion or Crumbling Miasma in a confined space like this, she didn't plan on dying here.

Instead of trying to dispel the mage's barrier, Shiori decided to use it to her advantage. The spell that reached its completion upon the end of her staff was thus, not another flame spell or a Dispel type which would have collapsed the water shell only for its casting mage to recreate it before Shiori could react.

Instead, the spell that blossoming from Mahou Shiori's staff was something simple, direct, and classic. A non-elemental guided concussion spell. It had an official name in ALO, but really, everyone just called it what it was.

Magic Missile

The soft ball sized mass of pure white light shot out like a canon shell, striking the water barrier, and then blossoming across the surface like a comet strike. The hemisphere shell dented inwards before re-inflating itself. Then Shiori did it again. And _again_.

The neat trick about Magic Missile although it was single target only and not really all that powerful was that like a lot of other weak spells, it had a Chaining Property which allowed each subsequent spell to be cast with only the last three words of the nine word invocation. Cutting the recycle time down almost to nothing and allowing Mahou Shiori to keep up a steady barrage for however long her magic held out. Shooting BBs like_this,_ that was going to be quite a while.

She kept it up, the chants coming at a fever pace as she stuck to her dance through the shifting, ever changing shelves, trying to kill her every second as she used them for cover against the mage's ice needle and water whip counter attacks.

The shell was getting smaller, contracting for protection as the mage underneath strained to keep up and struggled to offer some sort of counter to drive Shiori off, until the sphere was tight packed around her, until she was half submerged in the water.

That was what Shiori had wanted, dropping into a crouch, Mahou Shiori chanted, again, and again, and again. A rapid fire bombardment dead center on the mage and her contracted barrier. The first missile burst on the surface, blowing a fresh crater in the water, the second punched deeper, deforming the entire hemisphere, the third struck home, the mage inside, untouched, but doubling over as she was thrown back against the wall, her barrier collapsing completely in a torrent of water that sloshed across the ever moving floor.

The woman coughed and gasped, rolling across the ground as she half clutched her stomach and half tried to rise, slipping and striking heavily against her shoulder once more. She looked neutralized from where Mahou Shiori stood, but she wasn't eager to take that chance . . . Leveling the Nameless Staff, and trying hard not to think too much about it, she selected something suitably lethal.

She was half through with the chant . . .

Sword Shiori hit the inner most tier of shelves and almost at once leaped back as they began to rise, one by one, forming a barrier to bar her way. 'Not this time!' No more waiting, she was _tired_ of waiting.

Flinging herself back, Sword Shiori fell to the ground and broke into a sprint, keeping pace with the rising of the inner shelves beside her as she picked up speed and climbed up into a wall run helped along by the curve of the shelves so that she pulled just ahead of the Necromancer's defenses, kicking off with all of her might and just barely making it through the last partition, half rolling as she dropped to the floor feet first and mere meters from her prey at last.

Sheffield didn't look puzzled now. She'd had time to think, time to get scared. Good . . . that was how Shiori_wanted_ her . . . she wouldn't drag this out. She'd just kill her here and now. No need for cruelty, just a sharp slice and release from this self-imposed mission.

Shiori took a step, Sheffield threw something, inexpertly, but it flew all the same, seeming to gain speed as it tumbled through the air, then its arc spinning towards her with growing speed. It was trivial to parry with a one handed sword strike, quick and easy as licking her lips, and the spinning bit of metal was gone.

Still, Shiori's ears twitched as she listened for the telltale clatter of metal striking stone and instead was met by a sharp whistling that might have escaped a human's ears. To _her_ hearing it was the prelude to something sinister. The Cait spun on her heel, raising her sword in time to deflect again as the silvery glint, some sort of double ended dagger, came back around in a second attempt on her life, and then a third, a forth! Every time she lashed it aside, it just came back, again and again, slitting the shoulder of her cloak, grazing the tip of her tail. All the while, Sheffield pawed and pulled at the contents of the shelves, looking for something, any weapon to defend herself with.

Using the contents of the storehouse as a last ditch defense. 'Where's her wand?' Shiori thought suspiciously. Had she dropped it? No time to wonder about that, the next time the dagger came around, Shiori batted it aside again, this time into the near wall where she pinned it in place with a well-aimed foot before yanking an open strongbox from the shelves, dumping the finely ground contents and stuffing the weapon inside, trembling as it tried to cut her tight wrapped fingers. It proved more successful than she would have liked as the box lid locked shut and was dumped to the floor in disgust.

Shiori started her advance again, slowly, remembering what had happened when her Dagger self had come too close, she readied a barrier charm for good measure.

She didn't say anything, and neither did Sheffield, breathing heavily as she pressed back against the far wall, aware that she was alone and out of time. There seemed to be nothing for them to say. Shiori pondered offering the woman a moment to speak her last words, and then decided it wasn't something she owed to a Necromancer.

Sheffield's eyes cast downward to the floor and the contents of silver bowl that had been allowed to spill there, forming a puddle of shimmering crystal facets dividing the two women. Shiori neither noticed nor cared, too concentrated on finally having the woman herself who was responsible for every terrible thing that had befallen the Fae in Albion.

One last flourish of her blade. One last step into the puddle of liquid crystal. Sheffield dove, more like threw herself, to the ground, hand reaching out in a desperate quick action, splaying wide as it sank into the faceted surface, her brow gaining a previously unnoticed glimmer as she gave a cry.

'What?'

Then there was no time for Shiori to think, much less to act, a light that was not reflected but emanated outward from Sheffield's hand, racing like an electrical arc to contact her foot, then a fire burning up her leg and spine. When it reached her brain, it hammered into the base of her skull like a railroad spike.

Shiori thought she'd experienced pain before. Cuts, burns, getting banged up by Governor Barnard, the_Transition _and its feeling of being flayed alive. She'd been wrong. _This_ was pain.

_The Cait Syth, all three of her at once, quite promptly screamed as pain blossomed not just within her brain, but shattering across her shared mind with an intensity that drowned out her thoughts and self in a wave of white noise and light, blanketing everything, and leaving nothing, no word, no sight, no sound that she could cling to as it raced down every path and nerve, ignited every neuron in a cascade that crawled deeper and deeper inside of her . . . _

_'Break.' The word echoed within her, cold and not Shiori's own._

_She screamed, and she screamed, doubling over as she clutched her head, trying to get the building pressure out of her before it just split her in three. But the pressure didn't want out, it wanted in, forcing its way inside of her, like a paring knife peeling away the shell called Shiori from the living memories of Shirotaka Akira . . ._

'_N-No.' The Cait shook, buckling under the mental will that was almost tangible._

_'Break. Insistent and unyielding, a black fog worming deeper into everything that she had inherited in her creation. Every vivid spike of anger and tender memory that had made her real and linked her to once having been Akira . . . "Break!"_

_'No!'_ _Shiori cried out, confused, and alone, and for the first time in a long time not just scared but truly terrified and unable to lash out. She would not submit. She wouldn't! But she couldn't stop it, feeling as her will was slowly clouded and broken . . . stolen from her before she could fight. _

_Subsuming the memories of Akira's home and of his school, 'BREAK!',the crystal clear image of Nanami._

_'NO!' Her screams replaced by a roar of rage from deep within, a fire that smoldered constantly within her, bursting to life in the back draft. Sudden clarity and focus as a pressure built and all three of her came back into focus at once, a tempest peeling back the darkness_

_'BREA . . ." The inhuman shriek shattered like glass, fragmented and banished, and with its destruction, the dimensions of pain collapsed back in on themselves, back to the reality of the storeroom and the battle . . . _

Shiori heard one last scream and knew that it was not her own as sensation returned along with the flow of time and the world around her. All three of her lay nearly collapsed on hands and knees, bodies still shaking, and heads still echoing with the dying fragments of the _voice_. Shiori starred down at the puddle of crystalline liquid, catching her reflection within its surface as it began to darken and evaporate, whatever power it held either broken or used up.

Ears twitched. Sword Shiori looked up and about herself and released a hiss. Sheffield was gone, vanished through a gap she'd opened in her wall to ceiling barrier. With the Necromancer gone from the controls, the storeroom had gone dead and still. The fading sounds of footsteps at a run told Shiori the rest.

Despite the disorientation that was like nausea, all three of her were up at once. She wouldn't _let_ this woman get away.


	44. Chapter 10 Pt 5: Ruin Becomes Us

Author's Note : So anyways, bad news, the worse news, then good news, then ugly news. The bad news, I'm doing another side story, so I'll be leaving this on pause for a month or so, enjoy the super cliff-hanger. The worse news it's nine updates long. The Good News! It's completely written so there's no 'It's nine updates that's actually eighteen udpates' I will be posting it separately so that people can skip it for now. The ugly news, it's a beach episodes (I've been informed I'm required to do one.)

Hopefully by the time I'm done posting it, I will have finished this arc.

* * *

><p>Halkegenia Online v3 – Chapter 10 – Part 5<p>

Pain, physical pain, had been Sheffield's constant companion as a girl. Pain to cleanse herself of sin. Pain to show her worthiness. Pain to help forget everything that was not God. Pain had become a tool as much as a torture, and so her fear of it had dulled. To walk the path of righteousness was painful, she had been told, again and again as she had been subjected to pain. And for a time, she had been willing to believe it. Until more often than not, the one wielding the lash or denying her food was herself.

Sheffield had thought herself accustomed to pain, until now, the sensation like fire burning up her arm and smoldering at the base of her skull, maddening as it throbbed and seeped like molten lead poured slowly over her brain. It was hard to imagine that just minutes ago it had been so very much worse.

The nausea assaulted her again, a reminder of the way she had tried to wretch up the contents of her stomach at the merest reminder of what the backlash had been like. 'Backlash', Sheffield steadied herself against the wall of the passage, that was the only word that seemed to describe what she had experienced.

The 'Inquisitor's Eye', that was what the scrying liquid had called itself when she had touched it. She'd known at once, everything about its creation and purpose, a purpose it had no doubt been put to good use on many occasions before finding itself forgotten here. Falling under its influence should have left any mind hopelessly snared by the Eye's wielder, their helpless victim to be picked apart at leisure. As a desperate trap laid by the Familiar Myozanatinir it should have had suitably devastating results.

It had, after a fashion, even as it had failed catastrophically. Sheffield touched her hand to her nose, her fingers came back warm and wet, bloody. The Familiar's whole body trembled as the afterimages appeared behind her closed eyes . . . the after images . . . and the after impressions of . . . _something_.

Her feet quickened.

Just thinking about it was enough to restore strength to her legs, a surge of fear propelling Sheffield back into a stumbling run. She didn't know what that . . . _thing_ was beneath the guise of a girl. Fate forbid the Fae have more of her. She wasn't a Faerie, she was a _monster_. But whatever she was, Sheffield _feared_ it. Whatever she _was_ had done something that was _not_ possible.

Fear, visceral fear, had been a stranger to Sheffield for the longest time. Of course she did not fear pain to any particular degree, nor did she overly fear her own death, inevitable as it was, fear was as meaningful to the prospect of oblivion as defiance or any other human emotion.

This was different though, this was something alien and _unknown_ to her. Sheffield suspected it might be _unknowable_. She had been confronted by a being that had defied her predictions, and the predictions of her familiar runes, and that being was trying its hardest to kill her at that very moment. The lingering echoes of intent still crawled at the back of Sheffield's mind, the vague and overwhelming impression of _hate_, pure, choking, and almost tangible.

That was the motive of the thing hunting her. A storm of hatred and rage that fed upon itself and only grew stronger with every moment. Sheffield knew this, and she knew _how_ she knew, and knowing simply made it worse. For the first time in a very long time, at least since her binding as her Master's Familiar, Sheffield's found that she _feared. _

All the more reason to flee.

Run, Sheffield thought to herself, she had to _run_, she had to get away!

There was a guardhouse on the edge of the Saxe Gotha estate, where Saxich Bridge connected the outer Noble estates and market to the city proper across the river, staffed at all hours by detachments of mage soldiers. She needed to get there she told herself as she verged on gibbering terror. She just needed to get_there_ and she would be safe. Truthfully, she did not believe that for a moment.

The passage widened as Sheffield neared the door that would let up into the crypt above. The door was still open and the spiral stairs as she had left them. She needed to buy herself some time, slow that monster down, she thought quickly, nerves jangling, as if her mind was wrapped in thick steel wool.

Hands, searching by memory and feel, found to small, metal disks in their pouches upon her best. She shrew both of her back and tried hard not to think long on whether they would be enough, or whether she would be cut down before she reached the top of the Crypt. Flightless as they were underground, Sheffield had seen the land speed of a Faerie first hand.

Heels striking sharply with each step, up the hundred spiral steps, the Myozanatinir almost hesitated, panting, as she passed the plinth and its engraved seal. Dare she use it now? Doubt mixed within her. If she had held faith in anything it was her Master and the encompassing power of Void. But her Void granted power had not foreseen her assailant nor warned her when she had used the Eye . . .

Noise from below forced her hand, the whip crack sound of the anemone she had left behind unspooling to seize their pray and the unhappy noises of something fighting them. It was doubtful the Faeries would be held by such measures for more than a moment.

Before she could linger long on the thought, Sheffield reached out, touching her hands lightly to the pedestal and biting down a grown as the concentration that her power demanded gave new life to the throbbing _ache_. If it had taken but a few moments longer it would have grown to be unbearable, but the pain faded all at once as she heard the slow grinding of ancient stone and released her concentration all at once.

The spiral staircase was raising itself, haltingly, step by step, soon to entomb whatever was caught inside. The Myozanatinir didn't dare stop, however, fleeing through the crypt's entrance, her eyes flashing to still smoldering remains of a corpse, one of her reanimated escorts, burned down to char and bone.

Her assailants knew about the undead and their weakness? Of course they did! Sheffield clutched at her temples, panting heavily and impatient with herself, with the sluggishness of her mind, and more with her failure to martial herself. She was better than this, she knew at any other time, but now, she won the battle with her faltering concentration, for the time being, shaking her head to clear a bout of dizziness.

They had proclaimed her a Necromancer. And they had dispatched one of her escorts by decapitation and incineration at the very least. Foolish not to see what was before her eyes. Foolish not to think that the Faeries would send someone to avenge their dead as well. It had always seemed like Cromwell's brand of problem, a matter that was far from her immediate attention, born out by attack on Kingston and the death of Governor Barnard.

The second of her Faerie guards lay immolated on the outer steps of the crypt, the heavily carbonized remains of a sword still clutched in one skeletal hand. Not far from corpse the Steward's escort, a pair of mages, had been dispatched by the conventional expedient of slitting their throats to the vertebrate.

A detached portion of the Familiar's mind noted that it was an appalling display of brutality, unrecognizable for the efficiency she would expect to see in an assassin. But for the majority of her mind, she was long past any awareness of this detail. No, what mattered more to her at that moment was what lay beyond the corpses. The horses were still alive, the assassin had neglected to slit their throats along with their riders, and if she had any hope of escape now, she was going to need them.

There were seven in all, five gray and white ponies borrowed from the Steward's mansion, and two . . . Sheffield hesitated to call them horses, much less beasts at all, as she came upon the two black maned and leather armored behemoths, each twice the size of a draft horse, frames covered in tightly bunched muscle beneath an obsidian black layer of self-grown armor, a wicked, iron sheathed horn rising from their brows this moonsless night. Legend was that there was some Unicorn in them, along with the Earth Drake, and Warhorse blood that had given them their monumental forms.

Dullahans, a creation of Germanian alchemy immensely favored as fearless war mounts. With their gigantic builds, grotesquely engorged musculature, and legendary resilience and stamina, they were monsters of a different sort than the one chasing her. Long ears perked and heads rose as Sheffield approached them.

She knew neither beast, nor did they know her, but that was just as well. They showed no alarm as she neared, calm in a way that no natural beast could be, nostrils flaring as they exhaled jets of steam and tossed their narrow, triangular heads. These must have been from the stocks purchased by her agents for Cromwell's army. Pure Germanian bred, a deceptive rarity given the realities involved in their creation. The original Germanian herds were coveted for their obedience to a rider as much as their fearsomeness.

The fact that they could cover a mile a minute at a full gallop and maintain such a speed for upwards of ten miles distance was all the more reason to select one of the two living war engines, grabbing the reins and hiking a foot into the saddle stirrups to throw herself up and into the saddle.

The Dullahan's breathing deepened as it bore her weight, frame trembling as she stroked the short fur of its neck where skin fused into armored plate, pulling gingerly at the stirrups and feeling as the mount obliged eagerly. Then with only a moment to catch her breath, Sheffield kicked her heels into the animal's flanks, holding tightly as it was spurred at once into a cantor and then a gallop.

Swift and powerful, and with a gate like a wild animal. Dullahans were obedient beasts, but the riders that mounted them required the finest of riding skills just to stay mounted in the conditions of battle. Sheffield, lacking their armor, harness, or boots, was left to hold on for dear life, alternating between gasping for breath as she batted about and spurring the animal to still greater speeds.

The gravel road laid along the edge of the Saxe-Gotha estate became a pale white blur beneath the heavy hoof falls of two and a half tons of armored muscle, bone, and sinew, frame straining in a tireless sprint as Sheffield directed them along the curve of the roadway on the shortest path towards the feeble lights of the city and some hope of safety.

Casting an eye back over her shoulder, the Myozanatinir shivered at what she saw. Lights like fireflies rising into the air, three on yellow and gossamer wings. If she'd had any doubts to the fate of her assailants, they were extinguished now. She had . . . nothing that could stop them.

Her Master's eyes and ears, Sheffield's task was never to fight, and the tools which she wielded were at best a means of protection. The Anemone Traps, Deda's Butterfly, and Whirlwind Talisman were the extent of her personal weapons. Between her escorts and artifacts built for observation, they should have been more than enough to defend against anything that slipped through, or so she had thought. Now she was seeing how laughably inadequate they really were.

Keeping one hand locked in a death grip about the reins, her other clawing blindly to pull the protective talisman free from its pouch, the mechanism glimmered faintly in her hand, ready to used again as a last means of protection. It wasn't going to be enough, she knew as the Faerie wings, traveling low below the tree line to escape notice from afar, began to spread outward, searching for her. She would be spotted soon, and then they would converge on her in the open.

What she needed was something, anything to repel them, and as ludicrous as it seemed, she had begun to search the saddle until she came upon a quartet of tubes, heavy, and weighted at one end, packed into a heavily padded holster at her back. Flares. At first Sheffield was surprised to find them on the saddle of a mage soldier, but a moment's thought explained the mystery.

If the Dullahans were assigned to commoner scouts, as they might be as part of the garrison, then the men might need to mark their position by a means other than magic. Keeping the saddles of patrol mounts stocked with essential provisions was only sensible. Each flare contained a gunpowder charge powerful enough to propel it into the sky and an alchemic mixture that would burn brightly for the duration of its flight. The markings on the tubes proclaimed two yellow, a red, and blue signal, enough for a soldier to send a simple binary message that would be visible for at least a league in every direction.

The hunters at her back were beginning to gather speed, swooping low and vanishing for a moment behind a crest of a low hill only to appear again nearer and traveling faster towards her. She had been seen! And with that revelation the fear was redoubled. Grabbing the first flare tube, she tore the drawstring free of its wax seal and began to wrap the extra length around her free forearm while clutching the reigns with one hand, the end of the firing tube held away from herself in the crook of her arm.

She just needed to keep them back, away until she could reach the guardhouse at the bridge. She repeated that like a mantra to herself, as if saying it enough times would make it true.

The Faeries vanished again among the crowns of a copse of trees, sight of their glowing wings blotted out in the sea of leaves, lost to Sheffield's sight, the night sky was lit again only by the distant dusting of stars. No sight or sound of the Fae, or of any creature of flight until, very suddenly, a growing faint noise caused Sheffield to turn her eyes to her left as something threw itself from a branch high above, blade of glinting black metal coming down in a plunge.

Reflex saved her as Sheffield instinctively threw up her arm for protection. A deafening –Hiss- and a flash of light, blinding even through closed eyes, was joined by a burning sting, like molten sand biting into her cheek and temple. The flare didn't strike home, instead missing cleanly as the Faerie's wings flashed into existence and altered her trajectory at the last instant. By the time the after image had vanished from Sheffield's eyes, her assailant had been gone again. The Myozanatinir dared to think that for a moment she had heard a scream of rage as the assassin dropped back behind her.

They had vanished, into the trees and the dark all around her. Maybe they _were_ the dark, something small and childish betrayed Sheffield, sending a tremble down her spine.

_No. _Foolish! The Faeries were _not_ supernatural, they were creatures that bled like any other, her observations bore that out. The throbbing in her head grew again and she was powerless to stop it.

The light had banished them, the _light_, she thought as she hurriedly readied the next flare and shot it into the trees at the first sign of what might have been movement. She by no means could say for sure, but in the glare of light and shadows, she thought she'd had seen something flee. Without restraint, another flare into the blackness, dazzling as it ricocheted through the trees, casting harsh light and harsher shadows in every direction and then the last launched to her back as she was certain one waited there.

The spent flares fell, empty tubes smoking as they dropped from the saddle and Sheffield wrapped her grip tighter around the reigns.

The Dullahan's head came low, breath panting as the crunch of gravel became the sound of iron shod hooves striking cobble stone without slowing. They were through the tree line, through the old ornamental gates that stood abandoned on the edge of the estate and now the buildings of Saxich Street, closed and dark at this hour of the night, were rising around her, two and three storied stone and wood construction and at their end, Saxich Bridge, its overbuilt construction darkening the sky and narrowing the thoroughfare to a bare double cart-span overseen at the far end  
>by a single glowing point of light, the guards in their blockhouse.<p>

Relief dared to blossom, refuge so close. She could see guards on the street and standing watch in the guard tower. Sharp eyed men with good night vision, by now, they could see her as well, approaching as she was, a slight figure on the back of a giant warhorse.

She heard their distant calls, hails to the strange apparition that was nearing them. The Myozanitnir retained the foresight to reign in her horse else the men running out to meet her might think her a threat. Again, it might have been only luck which saved her life.

Two of the guards were a mere half hundred mails away when the air at the center of the bridge began to dim, to thicken and to change, like a dark fog was coming in, an ill omen that caused Sheffield to yank back tightly on the reigns as the shouted challenges of the guardsmen turned to surprise, and then to _screams_ only challenged by the louder cries of alarm and barks for order.

Sheffield saw the source of the screaming for herself in the weak light cast by an oil lantern, the thick black miasma crawling across the ground like ink dropped into water. Its outer reach came across the leg of a lamppost, and at once there was a faint grown and a creak as paint pealed and the iron beneath at once began to corrode.

It was the same everyplace that the substance touched. Glass clouded and cracked, stone bleached and crumbled like chalk, and wood _smoldered _and sparked as the smoke touched the walls of the buildings to either side of Saxich Street and began to collect and scale their sides, forming a barricade as thick impenetrable as stone to her front, and at her back . . .

Sheffield turned her head slowly, dread twisting in her stomach. She already knew what she would find, but like a small child, she had hoped if she did not see then it would not exist. _They_ were waiting. Three, three black cats outline in the blocked out stars, perched atop the roofs and towers of the shops, like Deacons casting their judgment upon her. And for a moment, a private part of Sheffield that she had thought excised long ago wondered what words she had been taught as a girl would have delivered her from this.

The Myozanatinir sucked in a breath and tightened her grip around the talisman in her hand, wandering what could be done with it to save her now. The Faeries would not wait for an answer, they were already moving, as if they had only stopped for that single heartbeat to gather their breath.

As swift as they were quiet, the Faerie to the left and the Faerie to the right descended upon her, weapons drawn to finish her at the sword. Through her Familiar Runes, Sheffield felt her talisman stir, waking as the wind magic within reacted to gathered a repulsing gale against the leading threat. A wall of wind gathered in the path of the sword wielder to her right, gathered, and then _broke_ against a plane of white light.

There was no time to think on this catastrophic failure as the winds were turned back on Sheffield herself, defused but still plenty powerful to pluck her from the saddle and send her tumbling to the hard ground with an –ooph- of driven air and a cry of pain as something –crunched- in her shoulder.

The Dullahan neighed as it reared up on its hind legs, suddenly bereft of its rider, its cries turning to whinnies of pain as the dagger wielder landed upon its neck and dug her blades into the base of the shoulders, holding on as she twisted and wrenched and drove the bucking beast off.

Sheffield rolled on her back, coughing and groaning low as her vision spun in the sudden light rising up all around her. Whatever corruption of Faerie Magic that had begun to eat away at flesh and stone was transforming the wood of the bridge buildings into excellent kindling for the fires started by any number of mundane lamps as their housings corroded and they fell to the ground spreading flame and oil in their wake.

The Familiar watched as the Faerie swordswoman flared her wings, landing almost delicately with a crossing of her legs, assuming a predatory mincing gait as she walked the short dozen steps to stand over her. The Myozanatinir swallowed as she gazed up into the green eyes of a girl. Cat eared and cat tailed, but still a girl, face too soft, too round for the vicious snarl that it wore now.

This was a Faerie. She had thought she had studied them well enough through their dead, but now she knew everything she had seen was but a pale imitation.

'My King . . .' Sheffield thought as her hands curved around the hilt of the dagger which had started all of this, it's blade glowing bright, 'Forgive me my weakness my King . . .'

A force struck Sheffield, an impulse so short and so intense that at first she thought she'd been the recipient of a kick delivered with the Faerie girl's obscene strength, but when the ground didn't not strike her back, when instead she remained suspended in the winds, and when her landing came considerable lighter and a good deal later into arms waiting to receive her. Only then did Sheffield understand what had happened as she was confronted by pale blue, sharp eyes, presently concentrated elsewhere.

"S-Sir Wells?" Sheffield gasped out through pained breaths.

"Lady Sheffield", the Dragon Knight grunted an acknowledgment as he helped her into the saddle of his ground fire Dragon, situated at the far end of the bridge from her assailants. In the sky above a second dragon was circling, waiting for the chance to dive. "Are you injured?"

Hurt, the pain in her shouldered flared up again. Dislocated at the very least, possibly broken, but certainly not fatal. She shook her head slowly. It seemed as if this couldn't be real. "How . . .?"

"We spotted lights among the tress and came to investigate. Now do as I say and be silent." Sir Wells instructed as he helped her fully into the saddle upon the base of the drake's neck. Perhaps a hundred mails distant, at the center of the bridge, the Faeries were turning towards them. The sword wielder from before took one step, head tilting to the side as a wind arrow from the circling knight, which should have pierced the back of her skull, was effortlessly evaded. Sir Wells grimaced. "You've caused me enough trouble for the night."

As soon as her foot set down, the swordswoman burst forward, a sprint transforming into flight as her wings flared in the dark.

* * *

><p>Her prey plucked from her at the very moment of victory. Shiori was . . . <em>unamused<em> . . . more or less.

In ALO, this was what Shiori would have called a FUBAR situation. The target was alerted in the middle of a hostile town and now their friends had started showing up. The numbers were turning against her by the second with two dragons and there Knights and who knew how many more on the way. Normally, this would have been where she'd cut her losses and run. She still _could_ if she wanted to. Shiori just . . . _didn't_. She might never get a chance like this again and besides, Sword Shiori grit her teeth as the _violation_ that the Necromancer had tried to commit returned to her, the twisting knot in her stomachs at the thought of that mental command, this had just become _deeply_ personal.

Sword Shiori took a step, Mahou Shiori watching the sky saw a wind arrow meant for her and Shiori easily stepped aside, letting the wind construct passed harmlessly aside. Dagger Shiori leaped from the back of the crippled hellbeast Sheffield had fled on, landing on an awning and then kicking off into the air with the orbiting dragon in her sites. Mahou and Sword Shiori would handle the Necromancer and her Knight.

'Kill her now and quickly, before more show up.' Shiori told herself as Sword Shiori kicked off into ground skimming flight. It would still be okay if she could manage that much.

The Knight would be waiting for her, she wouldn't let him be a problem. Knights, undead, necromancers, it didn't matter to her, she'd kill them if they got in her way! The distance between them plummeted like a waterfall, out under this open sky with her wings free, the whole span of a hundred meter bridge was just the same as single room.

Dagger Shiori climbed into the night sky, dodging wind projectiles with increasing difficult as she neared. Shifting her grip on her weapons, if she recalled, there was one specific place to hit a dragon, near the base of the wings, hit right _there_ and slice the tendons and the flight muscles anchored across the chest would be rendered useless.

The Mage's wind arrows gave way to their dragons' flame breath, bright and dazzling to Shiori's dark adjusted eyes, almost as bad as the flares Sheffield had nearly blinded two of her with. Flames weren't going to stop her, not now. Her wings raking back in a surge of acceleration, Shiori came up beneath dragon, aiming for the wing as she brought both daggers to her side and wound up to slash with all of her might . . . A last heavy wing beat from the dragon fell to its sides, the saddle revealed once again and Shiori's eyes went wide.

She didn't need her senses or those of her other bodies to tell her how and why. She knew what _she_ would have done and that was probably what saved her Dagger self's life as she twisted in midair, arching her spine and cutting the power to her wings. She slammed into fire drake's thick neck, feet first, and kicked off the way she'd came as the telltale ripple of wind magic ripped through where she would have been if she hadn't changed course.

Beneath her, the mage rider was plummeting on a terminal path with the ground, two short and curved blades held at his side, glinting in the reflected firelight from the inferno growing in the bridge.

'No!'

The dragon was forgotten in a heartbeat as Dagger Shiori chased after the Knight, her powered dive eating distance, but there was a long way to catch up. She wasn't going to reach him in time, and she wasn't going to have a spell ready either, the only thing she could do was warn herself closer to the ground as the mage through his cutlass wide and then cast with a shout.

When the spell took shape, there were no wind arrows or fireballs, in fact reflecting on it, Shiori was sure the Spell wasn't anything overly _special_, the mage just had a dangerous imagination. She was sure she would have liked him, more or less, if she didn't have to kill him.

Every window down the third of the bridge between two of herselves and their necromancer prey began to rattle, crack, and then all at once _explode_, a rain of a million glass daggers that twinkled with lethal whimsy in the night and left the Cait wide eyed as the falling mage gave a shout.

"Sir!"

The Officer had reacted immediately, a cast of his wand joining with the gale generated by his subordinate to send the shower of glass swirling and then hurtling down range like a wall of razor sharp hail, breaking into finer and sharper shards in a storm that would ultimately flay skin from bone and leave nothing _behind_ in its wake.

No time to climb, and no time to take cover, barely even enough time to release a barrier spell Mahou Shiori had been keeping in reserve. The hail of daggers struck the unfolding magic shield and broke like water against a river stone. Sword Shiori dug in, holding her Mahou self tightly as braced with her legs and , wandering which would give out first, the storm of glass or the barrier that Mahou Shiori was quickly recasting.

It turned out to be the former, lucky her, as the gale of magical winds were replaced by softer and intermittent beats of dragon wings, the Fire Dragon and its rider scaling the side of the overbuilt bridge to spread wings and take flight. And taking her prey with them.

'No you don't!'

Sword Shiori was moving, sprinting to close the distance and scaling the sides of the storefronts with flashes of her wings. The fast erratic hops making her a harder target as Mahou Shiori kept up a steady spell duel with the rider holding Sheffield tightly. Dagger Shiori meanwhile was locked in a duel with the fast casting aerial Mage who at the last moment torqued himself into a spin as a conjured blast of wind cushioned his fall to the street, at the same time channeling a wind blast upward to batter and whip at Dagger Shiori.

The Cait assassin came crashing down on top of him, Nidhogger's Fangs very narrowly missing as the Mage threw himself out of the way on another gale wind. She saw panic in his eyes and scented it in his sweat, a body already flooded with adrenaline, set her own blood to racing in excitement.

Sword Shiori jumped, judging her arc true so that her trajectory intercepted with one wing of the rising dragon, a single well aimed slash drawing blood and a cry of pain from the drake as its right wing fell lame, body collapsing against the second floor and roof of the shop building. It couldn't get away anymore. That left only Sheffield and her Guardian, a pale and blonde haired man in the sort of fancy uniform that just screamed .

When she went for him first, the Officer sheltering Sheffield swung out with his wand, a cane style foci of wood reinforced by a brass frame, the rippling of the air around its edge warning of a wind sword that clashed with a double finger span from its surface. They might with a clash of sparks and metal, the mage not even trying to resist Shiori's Faerie strength, instead trying to merely blunt and redirect the blow. With a supreme exertion and a grimace of pain, he manage, somehow, and then to Shiori's surprise, he began to fall backwards from his saddle,  
>harness cleanly cut free in the same swing that had brought up his guard.<p>

It was a heartbeat before Shiori realized it had been a deliberate act, allowing him to absorb the force of his swing and convert it into the energy of the roll that carried him down his dragon's spine, a wind-whip grabbing hold and dragging the startled Shiori down after him.

The dragon continued upward, flightless, it was still more than able to climb. Talons sank into wood or clawed at window frames for support, in search of the safety of a higher perch for itself and its remaining rider.

Meanwhile, Dagger Shiori had worked up a fast and furious Tempo with the tricky dual wielding mage, the bastard was a cut above Governor Barnard's magical mooks, but mostly it was the fact that he wouldn't stay _still_ but was just enough of a threat that she couldn't ignore him else she'd leave her Mahou self vulnerable in the middle of another chant directed at _killing_ the damned Mage Knight who was presently giving Sword Shiori problems.

It wasn't that he was particularly strong, Shiori thought angrily, because for all of her size, any of her were probably far stronger, and it wasn't that he was fast, although she was willing to bet his reflexes were in the upper tier of what a human could achieve. It was that he was _experienced_, she realized, and that made all of the difference in the world while trying to kill him. He didn't try to match her blow for blow, and he didn't try to keep up with her speed. Instead, he diverted her blows and countered, and preempted her speed and counterattacked.

The mage officer was good, probably the best swordsman she'd ever faced in a fair fight, something she would never ever have done willingly, and it pissed her off. His skill that was, the way it made her seem like a cheap knockoff in comparison, a newbie clutching the manual to her chest as she tried to make up for her own shortcomings.

Skirting along the ground or diving from above, trading spell fire which he expertly dodged, blocked, or countered to throw back at her. The fury of thrown spells had started to take its toll on the wrecked buildings all around them, fast becoming multistory heaps of kindling for the growing fires. If an alert hadn't been sent, there would be one soon. She couldn't waste time like this, Shiori thought impatiently.

Her only consolation was that he was starting to show the strain of keeping up, panting and getting slower, almost fatally so, he half parried her next strike and redirected a wall of flames to hold Sword Shiori at bay as he broke off. Mahou Shiori opened fire with a barrage, forcing the fire mage to take refuge and freeing a path upwards for her Sword Self to fly on unfurled wings. Sheffield!

The dragon was straddling the roofs of two shops, one beginning to smolder, the other already on its way to becoming a multistory inferno. The wounded drake hissed at spit and spit at her viciously as she rose overhead but declined to breathe fire without its master's instruction, sinking on its belly protectively.

Sheffield was right above her, Shiori thought, Sheffield was . . . Sheffield_was_ . . . The saddle was empty. Sheffield _wasn't_ there . . . Shiori's rage grew as she clenched her teeth in a grimace. Heedless of the bells beginning to sound in the distance, her eyes narrowed at the sight of a window, broken from the outside.

The dragon snapped out, trying to take a piece of her, and received a sharp slash across its snout for the trouble as Shiori dove past, dropping through the window neat as a Cait could be. As soon as her feet touched the ground her senses were alive. First noting the smoke, then the _blood_ that had been left on shards of broken glass. Lifting a fragment to her nose, sword Shiori's lips peeled back, it was fresh. Her _prey_ had gone this way . . .

Excitement replaced anger as she flourished in anticipation of the hunt coming to its final heat. Shiori stepped quickly, posture sinking low into a stocking stance as she moved deeper. It was easy, more or less, she just had to follow the blood. Or maybe it wasn't going to be so easy, she thought as Mahou and Dagger Shiori heard the approaching cries in the sky, more dragons, and where there were dragons, there were bound to be more foot troops on their way. There was still time, she told herself as Mahou Shiori used her wings in sparring bursts to dance along rooftops and awnings, alternating trading fire with both of the mages.

She regrouped with her dagger self, the fighting bringing them full circle so that their back were against the wall, or rather, the lingering cloud of the that had set to work corroding the soft parts of the bridge all around them.

The buildings to either side were burning merrily now, throwing off enough heat to make all three of her sweat. From the corner of her eyes, from time to time spotted fleeting figures, residents braving the street turned battlefield to escape, or taking their chances by leaping into the river. No one so far seemed stupid enough to try and _fight_ the growing fires in the middle of a battle, the few that saw Shiori had only run that much faster.

Good.

Shouts, distant and panicked from the far side of the cloud bank reported that the fires had not been blocked by the corrosive fog and might in fact have been helped along by the magical decay. It wouldn't be long at all until the whole structure went up like a bonfire, the wood bits anyways. She was going to leave her mark here, one way or another.

Deeper into the shop, Sword Shiori was running into trouble. Her senses weren't doing her as much good as she would have hoped, between the air heavy with acrid smoke and some sort of _spice_ burning up in the shop's storeroom, and the creek and groan of the building frame as the fast collapsing structure next door leaned ever more of its weight onto this one. There was too much noise, both scent and sound, and vision wasn't much better between the smoke, dark, and occasional sullen flame of the encroaching fire. But she could still find her way, Sheffield's path leading downward as it must to escape the building before it began to fail from fire damage. She couldn't lose her, not now.

Her Mahou and Dagger selves reengaged with the grounded Dragon Knights, fast spells, fast wings, and even faster blades as they broke into another dance of thrust, parry, and counter attack, Shiori relentlessly pressing her superior strength and stamina against the faltering Senior Knight while Mahou Shiori alternated keeping the dual wielder at bay and supporting her Dagger self.

Just had to buy a little more time to hunt down Sheffield, the thought burned behind her eyes, just a _little_ more time, as two great shadows blocked out the stars in the sky, sweeping across the bridged and coming about to land, each with a heavy crash that splintered would and dug grooves in stone.

Wings spreading wide and then fanning as they roared, two more drakes had settled themselves at her back. Shiori knew now that she was _out_ of time. And yet . . . she couldn't stop now. Not yet, not when she was this close, stocking the dark, and smoke, and heat, the choking air that was growing as hot as an oven as Sword Shiori traveled deeper, second floor, first floor, a twisting sense of dread as she realized the building had a 'basement', a sub floor built beneath the roadway that overlooked the river.

If Sheffield had escaped that was . . . _No_ Shiori knew that she'd hurt her, badly, the _Necromancer_ probably wouldn't survive a swim, not in the rivers strong currents. She hadn't gone _down_ but rather . . . Leading slowly with her sword as she tiptoed through the slowly breaking building. Floorboards creaked and beams trembled overhead. She should have just brought the whole building down, but she had to be _sure_ . . . However . . . That thought sparked an idea, one that her Dagger and Mahou selves were quick to carry out.

The perched dragons were rearing back, spreading their wings as their necks swelled grotesquely with the contents of their ignition pouches. Tongues rolled back to expose a bony protrusion in the floor of the mouth, jaw's opened wide as fire vomited forth like a river of oily red and yellow fanned outward by powerful wing beats and swallowing up the ground where Mahou and Dagger Shiori had stood.

The Faeries had kicked off, at the last instant, taking to the sky in a powered leap, and twisting through the air like a pair of acrobatic Siamese to come down between the dragons and their grounded allies, Mahou Shiori with a spell at the ready and already lined up.

The bolt of ink blackness threaded between the two knights on the ground and hurtled into the ground floor of one of the building perched dragons. It was done.

"Aye!" The younger Knight cried out. "You missed us you mangy kittens!"

It was the first words any of them had spoken, and it almost made Mahou Shiori laugh, instead, she just replied. "That's because I wasn't aiming for _you_." In particular, overly much, as the acrid black ink writhed its way from the blasted out windows, and oozed under cracking and shriveling doorways.

She'd picked the ricketier of the two buildings supporting the dragons, all wood and porous looking stone not up to the task of holding up a five ton flying lizard on the best of days, now suddenly trying to do so as its foundations crumbled, and failing at it, more or less.

The whole towering edifice, cheap stone façade and all, was coming down like a defeated Dungeon Boss's palace and the mages suddenly found themselves with more to worry about than just two black cats trying to murder them as the debris showered down.

"Lieutenant Wells!" The younger Knight's voice carried high shrill as he flung himself clear on a gust of wind, the officer vanishing in a cloud of dust preceding the fall of the rest of the building.

With only a moment's hesitation, the dragon gathered itself up atop the collapsing roof, and with surprisingly sinuous grace, leaped out over the street, spreading wings in a shallow dive that brought it crashing first into one disintegrating building, and then another more sturdily built structure that withstood the weight of the aerial lizard.

The dragon twisted sharply, bringing long neck around to spit a thick ball of fire which blossomed into an explosion that drove Mahou and Dagger Shiori apart and for a precious moment left the Cait's Mage self exposed as she arced backwards though the air, in the end saved by the eyes of her dagger self who spotted the fast moving shadow among the flamed licking the rooftops and offering Mahou Shiori enough warning to spin about, bringing up the to protect herself from wind magic enhanced sword-strike.

Mahou Shiori hissed as she was confronted by the face of a man who seemed oblivious to the danger all around him. Another idiot!

"Get out of my _way _. . ." Shiori said what she thought out loud as she doubled her grip on her staff and lashed out with a kick to drive him off, spinning the focus quickly about and firing off another valley of magic shots as he flourished his blade, manipulating the rising flames as a shield.

The man's grin didn't fall, even as he touched a hand to his cheek, where the sharpened end of the had drawn blood. He was _enjoying_ this, Shiori's chest heaved. _Good_ she was too. "I'm afraid that's not going to happen today Little Kitty." He resumed a guard. "It's through me or not at all!"

Shiori's fangs barred in a smile. "_If you insist_." All three of her said under their breaths.

Closer, she had to be close now, so very close, Sword Shiori thought, and with nowhere left to hide, no more tricks up her sleeve. The woman, _this_ woman, her hearts raced, from the battle, and from the thought that she would kill this woman. And then . . . and then who knew?

There were precious few places left to hide, the first floor, nothing but the shop front and its back room. A jewelry store, its wares left abandoned under their glass displays and within wall mounted lock-box. The back room empty, no noise, no _wait_, a rattle! Coming from the front, the door!

By the door, the front door, locked tight from the inside and _out_ some sort of security mechanism? Or a way to discourage thieves? Shiori didn't care, her prey was trapped in here with _her_ now. The Cait took care as she stepped, light and swift without a sound across the floor, the sound growing nearer. Nearer and nearer until it was just beyond the doorway of the backroom, right at the front door.

When she came through the threshold, leading with her sword, Shiori stopped as she was faced with . . ._herself_? The conflict froze her for a precious second as her mind, used to seeing herself through three pairs of eyes, was locked for a precious fraction of a second, just long enough for the sight of herself to be superseded by a flash of white, and a pressure that might have been _pain_ exploding through her right temple on the shortest distance path out through her left.

Sword Shiori was thrown forward, into the reflection of herself that really _was_ just a reflection, the mirror shattering and sending cold rippled up her arm as jagged fragments _sliced_ skin deep along hand and forearm.

All three of her shared in a scream of rage as Sword Shiori spun, sword slicing thin air at her back and met with a –crack- and –crash- as Sheffield stumbled backwards, losing her improvised weapon as she fell into the already weakened dividing wall and broke through as wood split and a rain of embers erupted from a gap in the wall that was like the mouth of hell. It was the only place Sheffield had left to flee, and Shiori followed, squinting through the heat and the flame and pulling her cloak close for protection.

If the first shop had been smoldering, this one was fully alight, flames licking up the walls, and eating at overhead beams, weakening the structure with dismaying speed. The whole building was beginning to slump and collapse slowly, weight settling towards its rear as if it was simply going to fall off the side of the bridge. The floor boards buckling beneath her feet, it occurred to Shiori that was exactly what it was going to do, sooner rather than later.

Searching through the flames and the smoke and hunting for signs of a solitary, _solid_ shadow, scurrying like a rat in a maze. Sheffield was harder to find than she had thought, but when she did, Shiori flew towards her, through the fires and embers and over glowing beams, poised for the kill as the door gave way and the Necromancer stumbled out into the battle between her other selves and the Knights desperate to rescue her.

The blonde fool saw Sheffield and tried to make a dash for her, receiving a timeout from a bind trap for his trouble, the pesky dual wielder slashing the black shadow tendrils and freeing him before Dagger Shiori could land the finishing blow. Dagger Shiori jumped to the side and rolled as a rain of precision wind spells fell from on high, cast by the still mounted knight clinging to a mostly intact stone building. Mahou Shiori turned on him, still mounted in his saddle and grounded, he was an easier target as a bolt of fair seared past her cheek, blinding her along her right side and sending searing alarms of racing through all three of her.

Mahou Shiori screamed as she clutched at the side of her face vision swimming as she opened her eyes once more. The Knight Officer, he was still alive, emerging from wreckage that had nearly buried him and holding his cane wand high overhead as he began to chant. Shiori hadn't seen this one before, and as she watched, she began to understand why.

Not even five minutes could have passed, but a half dozen buildings were doomed by now, cheap materials not much better than tinder as the flames raced to consume everything on the bridge. And yet, where the Knight walked, the flamed _guttered _and began to go out, or rather, like they were being drawn towards him, peeled away from their fuel and into the spell rippling like a heat wave down the length of his focus and then brightening as the air grew red, then yellow, then white. All around her, Shiori realized, the fires were going out, or rather, they were being trapped, converging into the flaming sword in the Knight's hand.

Then he swung, and the brilliant sword of flames came undone in a moment into a tsunami of flames bent on swallowing up Mahou Shiori like an insect in the path of blowtorch.

Her barriers rose, a hemisphere shield thrown up with every scrap of magic she had left, and then they buckled as the heat found a way through, so bright and intense that the Cait Mage had to keep her eyes shut, so hot that she could feel herself burning up.

No!

Dagger Shiori dove through the flames on her wings, cloak wrapped tight around her and reaching out for her other self as the translucent barrier began to flicker and falter and finally _yield, _the fire catching her like hitting a wall, an indescribably agony that peeled back every inch of her skin like an ice cold razorblade to leave nerves bare . . . Pain so intense Mahou Shiori seemed to _cease_ in its onslaught, the nauseous feeling as a third of her mind went suddenly _silent . . ._ or screamed so loud that the rest of her was deafened.

Sword Shiori staggered forward, doubling over as if it had been a blow to her own body, clinging to consciousness only by tooth and nail as she looked up and saw the witch she was after stumbling back, desperately back away from her, trying to flee as the world around the edges of Sword Shiori's vision began to darken.

Shiori could feel it, like threads snapping all at once, the pain as Dagger Shiori clutched at her Mahou self and raked her wings, blind, deaf, and dumbing to anything but pain as they were eaten alive by fire, as her mind began to die all around her, brilliant clarity shattering into kaleidoscopes of jagged past, present, and intuited future.

She was dying.

_Sheffield!_

And she didn't _care_.

_SHEFFIELD!_

Not now. Not anymore.

Sword Shiori's wings flared in a charge as she brought down in a lethal arc. The only thing in her world, herself, her _pain_, and Sheffield. The Necromancer, the defiler, the abomination that should not be in this world or any other. Just . . . like . . . _her_.

"SHEFFIELD!" Her hoarse scream rising into a blood curdling cry as she was met by a wind hammer and forced her way through, feeling bones groan and crack, bursting through a shell of fire and locking blades with the idiot blonde who had tried to stop her before. Wild strength batted him aside like a toy mouse, she'd felt hot blood on her hands and the crunch of bone as his eyes went wide.

And then Shiori herself felt suddenly very cold . . .

Sword Shiori . . . Just Shiori . . . trembled as the strength left her and an icy numbness spread through her chest. She looked down, trying to comprehend the sharp, blood covered blades that had erupted from her chest. Someone not much bigger than herself at her back and shaking as they drove the swords home. Then her eyes widened as she began to cough, struggling to breathe as it felt like she was beginning to drown on air.

The trembling grew, not just her own body but the ground beneath her feet beginning to crack and buckle, giving way as a terrible noise rose from beneath, Shiori was dropped to the ground, a puppet with her strings cut, fading in a blurred and confused haze as the world tilted, as she flew high up in the air in a haze of pain, clutching her burned self close to her chest, as she began to roll downward, plunging weightless past cracking stone pillars, as she ice cold liquid, as she crashed rolling across a secluded rooftop and came to a stop trembling, as she looked up through water and empty air at crumbling stone and fire. The last thing that Shiori saw as her collective mind faded, and then her isolated human mind, and then the small scared little animal mind, and then . . . _dark._

* * *

><p><em>'Ruin becomes us.'<em>

Sheffield didn't recall where she had heard that said. Quite possibly it had been some play or another, something she had seen in the company of her master some long time ago. Whatever the source, the words felt fitting now as she sat and surveyed the destruction from the shelter of a house stoop overlooking the banks of the river.

Ruin had become them, or at least, it had become Saxich Bridge. The hundred and fifty mail stone span still blazed at places where the houses and shops had simply been permitted to burn and burn until they burned themselves out. About a third of the way from the far bank, the widest of the five stone arches which formed the bridge's base had half collapsed as a result of the furious battle between Faeries and Mages, dragging half a dozen buildings into the water with it, including the very one that Sheffield had sought shelter in.

The Void Familiar shivered again as she pulled the blanket closer around herself, a futile effort to banish the chill. The water mage working on her arm, an iron haired physician native to Saxe Gotha and pressed into service for the night, alternately muttered comforting nonsense and chanted healing spells as she moved her focus from wound to wound and removed the crude shards of ill made glass.

As she had suspected, her shouldered was indeed broken, shattered was closer to the truth. Now that the terror was wearing off and she could think that pain was a constant fire creeping its way up her neck and into her chest. The physicians estimated weeks before it would be fully healed by magic, and she was not the only one who had suffered injury tonight. No . . .

"Hold still you bloody eejiot!" Ensign Blair Trayvor growled as he pressed the tip of a blunt arming wand against Sir Meinhardt's sword arm. The Dragoon was making every effort to quell the river of red pouring from a gash in the Knight's bicep. Even in the weak light cast by magic and mundane lanterns, Sheffield could see the unnerving cleanness of the cut and the white of bone that was in complete opposition to the jagged wound torn deep into the Knight's opposite flank. Done by the same creature very nearly at the same time with its _bare hands_.

"Meinhardt?" A second Knight was looming over the Ensign, another physician in tow.

The wounded Knight wore a forced grin as he made to rise and was pushed back down by the second physician. "Holland? Aye, _fuck _me . . ." There was a paleness to his complexion that was not wholly natural. Shock and blood loss no doubt, and luck that it was only that much.

"That one has a compound fracture above the elbow and broken fingers in his left hand." The Doctor Working on Sheffield's shoulder reported to the new arrival. "The laceration is deep, but it's clean, seal the wound and worry about the ones along his ribs, looks like something tried to maul him. I'll be there to help once I'm done cleaning out this glass." Returning her attention to Sheffield's bloodied arm, the mage grimaced. "Now please Miss would you kindly hold still? You're in luck you didn't sever any arteries like this . . ." The doctor went on, mentioning something about concern for the nerves.

'Mauled.' Yes, that was the appropriate word for what had nearly befallen Sir Meinhardt. The other mages had fared better only by keeping their distance. The Faerie had barely even noticed the trained Knight who had put himself between her and Sheffield, simply shattering his arm under the full force of a sword swing, and tearing a gaping piece out of his side with her bare hands. Like a wild animal, some feral beast the Faeries had forced by magic to take the shape of a girl and then set loose as their attack dog.

Sheffield's eyes widened as she felt the ache at her temples starting up again, she went about massaging her brow with her good hand. That was right, whatever had been within that monster's mind, it couldn't have been human.

"Meinhardt are you alright? Come on man!" Holland breathed as he crouched by his friend's side.

"Aye, I don't _know_." Blair shook his head fearfully. "I tried to keep the bleedin' down like the doctor said . . ."

"You did fine Lad." One of the Doctors supplied gently.

"But . . ."

The wounded Knight began to chuckle with more strength than Sheffield would have thought was left in him. He half groaned as his chest expanded. "Seems I got a bit more _experiencing_ done tonight, eh Holland? Pleasanter face than the Lieutenant's mind you. _Fuck_ though," he said breathlessly, "If that's how Faerie girls fight, _imagine_ what they're like in bed . . ."

Ensign Blair looked up with an expression that wordlessly seemed to say 'See?' But far from worry, the young flight Lieutenant appeared truly relieved. "He's going to be _fine_ Blair. If he's got the strength to think about bedroom conquests, Meinhardt's a good ways from death's door."

"Says you." Sir Meinhardt began as a wand was waved over his person. "I plan to die with my head in the lap of a beautiful woman, thank you very much."

Ensign Blair looked disbelieving and then disgusted as he looked away from the fool who had somehow earned a Knightly title, muttering something under his breath that might be interpreted as "Aye, _which_ head?"

The humor drained from Sir Meinhardt, like the blood before it, until all that was left was a pale and shivering young man under the care of the water mages busying themselves in the effort to keep him from becoming a_still_ and _dead _young man.

"Holland . . . _next _time . . ."

"Aye." The Knight took his friend's good hand and squeezed. "Next time we'll be ready for them."

"Next time we _torch_ them from the _skies_." Meinhardt finished with a grimace, and with that squinted up at Ensign Trayvor. "Well, unless you're our untouchable Ensign here. Not a scratch on you. You're a real piece of work Blair Trayvor."

Pale cheeks flushed as the Dragoon put down his arming wand. There was a look in his eyes, one he shared with Lieutenant Holland, it hadn't been there before the battle but now lingered, a resignation. "It's only because of the Lieutenant. Things were too busy fighting him to do more than glance my way from time ta time . . . I-I'd be dead if it wasn't for him."

And as for Lieutenant Wells . . . Sheffield's eyes traveled inevitably to the far side of the street where the battered and bloodied Knight was still on his feet and giving direction to the soldiers and guards arriving constantly. There was no sign of dissent or protest among the city garrison, though whether that was out of martial discipline or awe at the sight of a man who had fought Faeries to a standstill impossible to guess.

The destruction had woken the entire city of Saxe Gotha, from the palatial homes of the nobility down to the modest block houses and cottages of commoners and petty mages. News was already spreading among the citizens. It was doubtful that peace would return before morning, and how much longer would Peace return?

The Faeries had done this thrice now. Sheffield thought darkly. Attacking at York, Kingston, and now Saxe Gotha, and snubbing their noses at the defenders each time. Martial matters were normally none of her concern, Sheffield and her servants had concentrated their aid elsewhere and allowed Reconquista to scavenge the corpse of Albion for their military talent. Under their direction, the Rebel forces had become like smoke, no blow, however heavy, being more than a minor setback as more supplies and weaponry arrived from the continent. But if this was allowed to go on unopposed, even Cromwell's regime would collapse in on itself and no amount of outside aid would stop it.

Reconquista had been too much of an investment in time and treasure to allow it to fold even before it had achieved its first objective. She would need to furnish them with countermeasures of some sort, if only to bolster Lord Cromwell's strength in the eyes of the public. The Jormungandr class were far from ready, and wholly unsuited besides, but they were looking less and less suited to the coming times by the moment as well. It might be to use them now or not at all. She could have the archetypes shipped from Gallia within the week, in any case. Gargoyles as well, she'd been meaning to start mass production, and . . .

Yes, she had been complacent until now, and now she would arm herself to fend off this new enemy. The Familiar Myozanatinir told herself that it was all for her Master's ambitions, even as she shook.

"And what about you, Lady Sheffield?"

Sheffield's name drew her from her thoughts. It had been Lieutenant Holland, the mouse of a young man who was somehow the last left standing as stronger figures lay buttered or defeated around him. Not only untouched, but somehow unsurprised by what had happened. A thoroughly impossible young man.

"I am . . . Fine . . . Save for my injuries Lieutenant." She said carefully. "My thanks, for your concern, and for the bravery of your friend." Little more than a roadblock he might have been, if not for Sir Meinhardt attempting to shelter her, the chances were good the sword that had nearly taken off his arm would have cleanly taken off her _head_.

"Hardly worth mentioning." Sir Meinhardt chuckled as he looked up to the stars in the sky. "The thanks of a beautiful woman is always a pleasure."

"Lieutenant Holland, Ensign Trayvor." Sir Wells barked as he stocked across the street, giving a final wave of his arm to dismiss the men who had been at his side.

"Sir!" Both cavalrymen rose to attention. Lieutenant Meinhardt attempted to sit up as well but was pushed back down with a grumble from his physician.

Lieutenant Wells was still standing although that was feat almost as impressive as having survived the Faerie onslaught. The bandages that had been wrapped tightly around his forearm, shoulder, and thigh, and the blood drying across his forehead and cheek showed that he had come out of the battle far from unscathed. An expert swordsman, the Lieutenant had sacrificed himself to a death by cuts in order to survive the melee as long as he had. Now however, that strength was beginning to ebb and he was starting to show the sign of being profoundly tired, perhaps near to exhaustion.

"Lieutenant, Ensign, your dragons and your persons are uninjured." Sir Wells waved both men at ease. "Saxe Gotha's garrison doesn't have a Dragoon detachment on hand. They were moved to the cliffs to defend . . ."The Knight trailed off with a disgusted shake of his head. "I want you to form a flight pair and sweep the river towards the Westernwoods."

"Sir!" Both Knights nodded and then the Ensign hesitantly added. "Sir? Pardon my asking, but why to the West?"

"To find the Faerie you ran through Ensign, and if you haven't already, to kill it." Sir Wells sank down on the steps of the stoop, running a hand through his hair.

The junior officers exchanged looks and then turned back to the Lieutenant. "If it isn't already dead?! I stuck two swords through its chest, Sir. Even if it survived, no _one_ hurt like that is going to last long." Blair's hands opened and closed nervously, the boy looked unwell as his features twisted. "_Nobody_." He repeated a last time, confidently.

"Nobody _human_ you mean." Sir Wells corrected tiredly. "It might not have to survive long if it ends up being rescued." Both of the Lieutenant's subordinates were left speechless. "We haven't found the corpses of the other two either." Sheffield felt her gut beginning to twist. "I know fire, and those flames weren't hot enough to immolate the remains. So assuming there are only three, that's still three unaccounted for."

Ensign Trayvor did not seem so enthused now as he nodded weakly and stepped back beside Lieutenant Holland. "You best get going now, the currents are swift once the river reaches the forest." Sir Wells said.

"And you, Sir?" Sir Holland asked, nodding to the Lieutenants bandaged arm.

"Unlike your friend Meinhardt I am not blessed with boundless magical stamina. Between the fatigue and blood loss I'm spent for tonight." Sir Wells leaned back slowly. "Once I catch my breath I'll be dispatching a report back to General Barnard. Now then, Gentlemen."

"Sir!"

The junior officers scurried off like mice scattered by a landing owl. The physicians finished with Sheffield and went about treating Sir Meinhardt before transferring him to a stretcher to be carried back to barracks. At last, Sheffield was left more or less alone with her thought among the bustling of the street. Alone in a sea of bodies. Almost.

"So tell me, Lady Sheffield." Sir Wells asked, eyes closed and arms crossed beside her. "Those Faeries were hell bent on killing you."

"I don't . . ."

"Do not deny it." The Knight warned quietly, but with a bite to his voice. "If they had been any less fixated on you, we would all be dead by now. That makes it something I rather pressingly would like to know the story to."

Sheffield was quiet for a heartbeat, two, slowly, she took out the small dagger with its scabbard unsheathed the blade just enough to see the metal fallen dull and lifeless.

"As I was about to say. I'm sorry, but I truly don't know."

* * *

><p>Morning came to the forest as it always did, a slow lightening of the sky, the stirring and growing songs of the birds, and then all once the rays piercing the treetops, like first light in a cathedral. The air was still and crisp that morning, sweet with the summer smell of evergreen, the branches full of bird songs, and rustling in the bushes and trees.<p>

Crawling through a fork in two tree trunks, a burly creature made its way on four short legs, body covered in bristle and short, black fur. A large, elongated head swung from side to side, snout wriggling as it scented across the ground and then stopped, raising its head to search its surroundings with beady red eyes.

Then, satisfied that all was well, it went back to its rooting around the trunks of the trees, in search of the choice tender truffles that were so often found there in spring and summer, quite occupied with its feeding as a broad head arrow pierced cleanly beneath its ribs and skewered its heart.

The forest went silent as the placid sounds of feeding were replaced by short, startled squeals of pain and the panicked clattering of hooves that quickly slowed and grew irregular as the animal's life blood drained. There was no use running, it had been dead as soon as the arrow had struck true.

The boar fell on its side, still struggling feebly as its squeals turned to whines, and then those too faded as it came to lay still. The silent forest which had stood witness to its death, slowly came alive again with noise, all the time and effort that the wild had to spare for one of its own as it breathed its last.

As the noises resumed, they were joined by another noise, a rustling as something fell from one of the trees to land somewhat precariously on all fours. A bizarre site to anyone not familiar with the huntsmen of Albion or the White Isles frequent bouts of freak cold that came even in the summer months. Bundled up tightly from boots to patchwork cap, mottled leggings and jacket, dark green scarf, and leather gloves and brace, not a single inch of a skin was left exposed save the tips of the fingers with which to draw the bow now shouldered as the hunter approached their kill.

They stopped a short distance away and unlimbered their bow, notching the next arrow and coming smoothly to full draw before nearing. The kill had looked clean, but it wouldn't be the first time that a boar had given a final struggle before expiring. The hunter took no chances until they had prodded the fresh carcass with the toe of their boot.

Only then satisfied did the bow go down, its arrow returning to the quiver on the hunter's back. The pack came off, the dressing knife came out, and the scarf came down to reveal a pale and girlish face, heart shaped with cheeks pink from the cold of staying up in the trees since before dawn's light. Her eyes were blue, her father's eyes, and her hair was pale blonde, her mother's hair, one of many things she had inherited from her mother.

"Thank you for your sacrifice." She said while looking into the lifeless eyes before her. "I promise I won't let any of you go to waste." It would be an easy promise to keep. A dozen hungry mouths made for a big family to feed.

Closing the boar's eyes as she closed her own, the girl whispered a small prayer of thanks directed to no god in particular and then set to work. First, peeling off her gloves and rolling up her sleeves to bare taut arms wiry with hard worked muscle, the girl produced a length of rope from her pack and bound open the carcass' hind legs so that they wouldn't get in the way, then she lifted the animal into the air by a noose around its neck, steadying the carcass at waist height.

Next came the dressing knife. It wasn't easy work, but a keen knife edge helped, so did experience. The promise of some fresh meat for herself and the children kept her motivated.

First a cut along the loins so that the guts could be let to drop out. Then peeling back the skin and fur to reveal a healthy layer of white fat over pinkish white flesh. Good, this was a healthy young boar, and he'd been eating well this season, which meant his meat would be good. Bit by bit, she sliced away flanks and pared down the back and along the ribs, separating the shoulders, and splitting the hams.

It took her perhaps an hour to render down the wild pig, until what had started as a fully formed animal was reduced to neat piles of meat, fur, guts, and bone. She carefully collected the useable parts into the sacks she had brought for just such a purpose, the meat almost filling one of the sacks  
>completely on its own.<p>

This had been an unexpected windfall. When she had set out, the girl had only intended to rid the near forest of a dangerous animal that might harm the children, she'd had no idea while tracking the boar over the past few days that it was such a big specimen, and she had to wonder if maybe she would need to go get the children to help carry it all.

Luckily, they still had enough salt left for preservation; the meat wouldn't be let to spoil before it could be eaten.

"I'm not getting you home on my own though." She decided finally, before looking down at her own hands. Besides, she needed to wash off all the blood.

The river wasn't far at all. In fact there was a place nearby where the river curved and where the currents tended to collect flotsam and any fish too lazy to struggle against the flow. She'd laid her traps there for exactly that reason, big wicker baskets hidden in the water, the fish could swim in, and then they couldn't get back out. Now was probably a good time to check the fish traps anyways and she could wash up while she did it. Salted pig _and_ fresh fish, it would be a good start to the month.

Expertly tying up the dressed carcass, the girl left the meat and skin hanging high up in the same tree she'd used as her vantage to pick off the boar and then set out towards the river bank along well traveled animal paths and a few short cuts she'd found for herself.

The forest didn't fall silent as she passed, silence in a forest usually meant something was _wrong_, so she'd learned to mask herself by moving as a part of it instead. In fact, her sister insisted it came naturally to her, telling her that she was as at ease in the wild as her sister was in the city. She didn't think so, anyone could do it really, she just had a lifetime of practice. Well, maybe not a lifetime, but _most_ of her own short lifetime.

It was the same as learning the lay of the land. This was her home, and she had grown accustomed to navigating its paths and its dangers. Though maybe that wasn't enough anymore, she thought to herself, keeping an eye and an ear to her surroundings as she traveled.

Sister didn't seem to think so. In her letters she'd said she would be returning soon, earlier than expected given how dangerous the war had made it to travel. Her letter . . . Had not made as much sense as the girl could have hoped. Something had _happened_ on the continent, a fact born out in the rumors the children had relayed to her on the occasions she had sent them into town for supplies, but as always it was hard to say what was truth, what was rumor, and what was simply the children's vivid imaginations.

Fanciful stories about a land of Faeries and Magical Creatures. The girl had always thought Faeries were . . . well . . . Faerie Tales. And yet now her Sister was writing to her about those Faerie Tales as if they were completely real. Whether this was wonderful or terrible wasn't entirely clear in her Sister's letters. Sister said the Forest wasn't safe anymore, she said she'd found a better place.

And for all the confusion of her letters, the girl thought uncomfortably, sister was right. The Forest had been_changing_ lately, newcomers that should not have been there, and not of the human sort. Thinking about them made her all the more nervous. Sister called them Orcs. They had been wiped out on Albion long ago, but had made a return recently, brought from the continent by the rebels to bolster their army.

Some had escaped or else wandered off from their armies, and now they were starting to find their way into the forests. The girl barely paid any mind to her own small frown as she brushed aside a messy strand of hair.

Big, pink skinned creatures, eerily like the wild boar she'd just killed, but even bigger and more violent, and with only thoughts of eating, fighting, and copulating running endlessly behind their beady eyes. The girl had already confronted a band of them to discover for herself that they could not live in peace. She had been careful to blank the band's minds so that they would wander off none the wiser, but they would be back, of course, in search of food no doubt. She bit her lip.

Though she didn't like it, it might come down to picking them off. A good, sharp, broad head to the heart would put them down the same as any other dangerous animal, and failing that, there were some poisons strong enough to do the job so long as the arrow got into their chest cavity. They were however pack hunters, like the wolves of the deep forest, thinning the pack on her own would be dangerous. If it was to be done, she'd have to wait for her sister's help.

The trees stayed thick all the way up to the bank along this stretch of the river, part of the reason it made such a good fishing spot. Not only did the shade draw the fish in, the trees overhead made for good cover on the off chance anyone might spy the tops of her fish traps. Even if they _did _see them, they could easily be mistaken for just more of the flotsam that collected at this spot along the river.

The girl slowed as the river way came into site. She could tell that something was wrong almost at once. The usual debris had found its way to the riverbank, but there was far more too much of it at a glance, a far too_refined_ at that. Twigs, branches, and logs, even the occasional small boat was common enough, but this morning the river played host to clearly hewn beams and the broken remnants of wood furniture, all obviously from Saxe Gotha up river.

Had something happened in the City? She wondered as she traveled down towards the bank, hopping lightly from stone to stone, and landing in a fast jog that brought her to a halt on the slick clay at the edge of the water. An accident? The river wasn't navigable much past Saxe Gotha. Maybe a cargo barge had gotten loose and broken up on the rapids.

This wasn't good, she pondered, someone might come looking to recover their valuables. Not, she judged the water logged ruin, that there was much of value left among sodden wood and the occasional bit of clinging fabric. Some of the beams still looked good though, and small enough that maybe they could be carried if they could be gotten out of the river . . .

The girl paused skittishly, looking in both directions along the bank, and then very consciously up into the sky before setting her pack down and beginning to pick her way through the wreckage. She stopped almost at once as she came across a hand.

Her stomach had twisted. It was a pale hand, so pale that she thought it must belong to a corpse, and so small that she was sure it had to be the corpse of a child. So it had been an accident, she thought quietly, and this child had suffered for it.

The girl approached cautiously, careful not to disturb the beam, caught precariously against the shore, as she made her way out along its length.

The debris had covered part of the body, half hiding a small figure clinging tightly to the largest of the beams. The impression of a child receded that little bit as the girl grew nearer. This one too was a girl, an adolescent older than the children but still perhaps a little younger than herself. Whatever fate she had suffered, it looked to have been horrible and over quickly. Her clothes were shredded to rags where they did not cling by water or blood to her small body, at places it seemed she had been pierced by . . . _something . . ._ though girl could not imagine _what_. Her soaked  
>haired was a clotted with whet clumps of mud, or maybe blood, half hiding a face that had gone waxen and sickly like death itself.<p>

"I'm sorry." The girl whispered as she reached out to touch the body. "I'm so _sorry_." The least she could do was take the remains from the river. Though whether to leave them on the bank or give them a proper burial, she couldn't say.

The question resolved itself as she pressed her palm against the still little body and felt a heart stopping tremble, so small that it might almost have been a trick of her own pulse. But the girl didn't believe that for a moment. Acting perhaps too quickly, she pulled her cap from her head, unruly blonde locks spilling down in a tangled and days' unwashed _mess_ as she leaned close and _listened_.

A sound so faint, it took all of her concentration to hear it over the water, but definitely there, a tiny breath mixed with an unpleasant gurgling noise, feeble as a candle flame, but there nonetheless.

"You're alive!" The girl whispered, first excited, and then fearful as she clutched at the ring she wore safely on its chain beneath the warmth of her jacket. She stopped again as her hand brushed across hair and fingers caught on something fragile and thin as tissue.

It was damp, and stiff, one side covered with thick, fine black hairs like fur while the other felt smooth and soft as silk. The girl was mystified as her hand probed, following the strange structure those rose from a forest of damp, stringy locks to where it merged into the other girl's head behind and beneath her temple. Where her ears should have been, where her ears _were. Ears . . ._ like a cat . . . Her _ears_!

Without thinking, the girl's free hand had reached to the side of her own head. She made her decision quickly, pulling her mother's ring from around her neck. She didn't know what was happening, but she knew what she had to do.


End file.
